The Fall of Heroes
by Punisherette
Summary: This is part of a trilogy of Punisher stories. Part I God's Avenger Part II Sins of the Fathers
1. New Beginnings

"Have you ever flown in a private jet, Rogue?" Nick asked as he permitted, out of a gentleman's sense of politeness, Rogue to go up the steep steps first. He wasn't a gentleman, really, but wanted to treat Rogue right just in case Jarhead heard about it. Sure, the woman had valuable skills, but it was her man he wanted to haul in. _If I could get my hands on him, global terrorism will see an instant thirty percent decrease._ Nick knew that he would have to be very subtle about his attempts to recruit him. Frank was no fool nor suffered them, either.

"Can't say as Ah have. Ah'm sure it'll be a blast." Rogue responded. She took a front row seat and kept an eye on Fury. "What will Ah be learning at Parris Island?" She informed him of what she did know: orienteering, gun maintenance, survival, close quarter combat and her favorite: sniping. "One shot, one kill is what Ah learned."

"After I appraise what you can do in marksmanship, I'll decide what gun courses you'll take. If you're as good as Castle says, you might not need any. You'll learn paratrooping, then go on to the advanced course: HALO. That's dangerous, though, so we won't do much of that. I'd advise you to pay attention. You'll also have a few classes in providing first aid, improvised combat and stealth techniques. I'll add that you will be dealing with some sensitive equipment, so a class in how to repair the tech while in the field will be mandatory."

"So what branch of the CIA will Ah actually be in?"

"S.W.O.R.D. Sentient world observation and response department. The sister branch of S.H.I.E.L.D." Nick thought of what else he could tell her. Rogue was a sensitive and shrewd young lady, a delightful smart ass too, and he thought she deserved to have a hint of what was going on. "Things have been going on that I'm not too keen about. I've heard stories of villages being plundered. Not simply for valuables, but for women and girls almost old enough to be considered women. There's rumblings of an increase in human trafficking, specifically the sex part of it."

"Oh God, that's gross." Rogue grimaced. "You don't have to train me. Just send me out there and Ah'll pump them full of bullet holes."

"I admire your enthusiasm, but you will be trained. You'll be assigned with two other soldiers to form a fireteam." Nick poured himself a double shot of Scotch and gestured for Rogue to help herself to the bar. She chose, wisely, a mineral water. He approved. She passed a test.

"Will it be like true basic training?" Rogue asked.

"No. The others will have had an extensive military background, so there will be some privileges not normally accorded. Keep your head down and do as the others do. Make friends, because these people could have your life in their hands." Nick advised the young woman.

Rogue watched as the world flew by and the terrain changed. "What about living accommodations?"

"Everyone will have a small—and I mean small—bed and bath chamber. Breakfast will be served at five, over at five thirty and classes begin promptly at six."

When they landed, Nick wasted no time in whisking them off to the Marine base. After leaving her belongings in her room— _Nick wasn't joking,_ Rogue said to herself—she was rushed off to the mandatory health check.

She ran on a treadmill, electrodes stuck on her skin for a half hour. She had her vitals taken, blood pressure and pulse. Eyes and ears were examined. Rogue put up being checked over with her customary good humor. _No sense in getting worked up. Ah needed a good medical exam anyway._ The doctor then left the room to make notes and confer with Nick, she supposed.

As the medical assistant finished drawing her blood, as the doctor came back in with most of the results. "You are in fine health, everything is in tip top shape. I'll send the results to Fury." The older gentleman, gray in his hair and with silver eyes, gave her a friendly clap to the shoulder. _Okaaaay,_ she thought with some irritation. _Some people's children, Ah swear, have no sense of boundaries._

With that business concluded, she was released back out into the lobby. From there, she was shown where the more important locations were, like the mess hall and the administration building. It was seven o'clock before she was led off to the firing range to test her marksmanship, which she passed with flying colors.

"If I hadn't known better, I'd say you were trained in the Corps as a Marine Scout sniper." Frank Castle hadn't lied or exaggerated. The young woman was good and Nick relaxed a little. He wistfully thought he'd love to have Castle on board, for the millionth time.

"Well, my instructor was and he became certified to teach others, but you know that. So Ah am one in all but name." Rogue chatted to him as she briefly cleaned out the rifle and stashed it back in the locked armory. "That reminds me. What should Ah tell people if they ask about my background."

Nick gestured for her to follow him to the mess hall, where dinner was yet being served though, by now, it would be slim pickings. "Let them know you worked for an independent security firm and that you cannot disclose the name. That'll keep them quiet."

Rogue eyeballed the food. It didn't seem that bad. Better than the MRE's that Frank was probably going to nosh on until she came back with real grub. She stood in line and received a tray of meatloaf, mashed potatoes and jello. Nick said that he would grab something later. She envisioned him eating a nice, juicy steak chased by a shot of Jack Daniels. She quickly downed her meal and bused her own tray.

"We have a few things to do at the admin building, such as get your photo ID and dog tags. You will be required to wear them on base at all times. Those are my direct orders." Rogue shuffled after Nick and sat at his borrowed desk while they filled out paperwork. Including life insurance. "Just give it to Frank. Give everything to Frank in the event that something happens to me." He then slid the shiny dog tags and the laminated ID toward her. She put them both on per Nick's instructions.

"Put one of the tags in your boot when you get back to your room." Nick suggested.

Rogue thought she could guess the reason why, but didn't want to ask. _Ah'll do it. Ah do hope this means Ah won't get blown up._ The clock chimed ten times as she glanced at it. Exhaustion washed through her, but she stayed awake. Barely.

When they wrapped up the rest of the legal paperwork, Nick told her gruffly to head off to her room. He escorted her part of the way, the base was large and he didn't want her to get lost, but close enough so that she easily could stumble into her new quarters. "Remember. Get up at five, eat, then come back here to be assigned your fireteam."

Rogue managed to peel off her clothes before tumbling head first into bed. She pulled the covers over herself and slept the sleep of the blessed.

# # #

"This is Eleanor and Kevin." David said as he introduced two of his children to Frank. Once he talked to Kevin, the young man had insisted on meeting him. _Dad,_ Kevin insisted, _he's a hero to the SEALS. I HAVE to make his acquaintance, even if it is just once._ David disclosed everything to his grown offspring. They were curious and slightly envious. _He knows Nick Fury?_ Kevin had asked and David nodded. Another hero, apparently.

A few days ago, David asked Frank if he even wanted to be introduced. There was a heavy pause before Frank said "Yes.", as if he desired to say no, but unable to resist this chance.

Trent was enrolled in a good Catholic school, near the brownstone David so recently inherited and that gave the four of them to gather privately.

Frank studied the two of them, one blonde and the other dark haired. Both young people seemed so glad and eager to meet him, though the woman possessed a seriousness beyond her tender years. Kevin extended his hand and Frank shook it. Kevin, easy going and friendly, showed no sign of trouble to Frank. Eleanor, though, made a ping on his radar. He thought she would adapt perhaps too well to the military life. Something undefinable disturbed—or was that too strong of a word? —him about his granddaughter.

Kevin went on to say it was an honor to meet him and that Frank was well regarded in the SEALs. He pointed to the badge on his uniform: GOD WILL JUDGE OUR ENEMIES. WE'LL ARRANGE THE MEETING. A skull—HIS skull—was in the center.

This bothered him. He was no role model, no one to emulate. "What's wrong with Captain America? He was my hero, when I was young."

"He's army." Kevin said. "He's a good guy and all, but his methods don't work. At least not for long. Yours do."

"There's a website devoted to you on the internet. Hell, several websites." Eleanor chimed in. "With alleged testimonials and all. The real fanatics call themselves Punisherologists, and they go back and forth all day about you." She left out the part about the autopsy photos since that would upset him. She'd talk to her dad later on and see what he could do to yank them off.

Frank just grunted, entirely ill at ease that he had people putting him on a pedestal that he neither deserved or sought to be on. He thought it was bad enough Rogue was on a similar path and worried enough about her. _Captain America's goodness represented the values of his time, of when I was old enough to hear stories from Father. Does that mean what I believe and what I represent are becoming America's new ideals?_ Frank understood full well that he was not a philosopher, but he considered this to be a troubling development and decided to file it away when he had time to properly think about it.

Eleanor and Kevin shot a quizzical look at each other. Their 'grandfather', who by sheer physical appearance, really could be mistaken for Kevin's brother, seemed lost in thoughts unpleasant. They didn't understand why.

He ached to tell them that he wanted them to run for the hills, and to get the hell out of the military. He barely knew them, but he wanted a better life for his grandchildren. Sure, Frank could have given them his views on how the government used up and spit out the hapless men and women that became caught up in the cogs of the miliary. He should have mentioned the fifty thousand vets homeless on the streets, without families and homes and hope. Some of them were crazy and neglected by the government. He even could have pounded it into them about justice was denied him because of corruption. But, he didn't. They probably wouldn't be able to grasp the complexities of his various experiences. Not because they were dumb, they had smarts despite both of them willingly embracing the military, but due to their youth.

"Just keep your heads down and always wear your helmets, kids. Don't sass your drill sergeant, either. Unless you want to end up doing push-ups for the rest of your life." Was what Frank managed to say. Gruffly. He wasn't about to discuss 'Nam with them or Maria or Lisa, but he did listen as they talked about themselves and their lives.

When the two young people left to go pick up Trent from school, he turned to David and said. "Watch out for Eleanor. She's lacking something inside. I don't believe it's due to anything you did. She just is what she is."

David's blue eyes turned stormy. "I know and I can't stop it. She'll be off to boot camp tomorrow. Kevin's off tomorrow as well. He passed all the tests and there is no nerve damage."

# # #

A knock at the door of Fisk's apartment broke the serenity of the moment. Wilson Fisk had been enjoying some Mozart and a glass of Cognac while watching the fire crackle in the fireplace. This ritual was like a meditation to him. It restored what meager strand of a soul he possessed and tried so hard to keep. This interruption, however, was anticipated and even welcomed.

He gave a short nod to his butler, a new man by the name of Jason, and watched as his employee opened the heavy oak doors. Three blue ladies walked in. All of them strongly resembled Mystique, though he discerned through sharp eyes, they had some differences between them. On purpose, he suspected, and that was fair enough. One had long red hair and curves that would not quit, one had short pure white tresses, and the other one's hair bore a shade of light blue. There were other alterations as well, their body types ranged from skinny to a Marilyn Monroe like voluptuousness.

There was a fourth one created, too, but per the agreement he made with the Hand, they kept her. Wilson also gave them five million dollars as a token of his gratitude.

The red headed one smiled, so like HIS Mystique, "Yes, I prefer to be called Mystique. The one with the white hair we call Nightshade and the last one is Fatale."

The process had taken some time and considerable effort, which Wilson appreciated, and viewing the results, it had been more than worth the expense. They were conditioned to fight, he had been assured, and retained all the original Mystique's abilities. However, stage one of his plan was not quite in place yet. He needed to somehow set New York City's fiercest vigilantes against one another and the bald man came up with the perfect plan.

But first, the Kingpin had a series of meetings with a foreign dignitary, who he had dealings with in the past. The dignitary wanted another way to ship weapons into the city for his men, who, he informed Kingpin, had been stateside for quite some time. In fact, they had been working on that when the rather large shipment of illegal guns was intercepted by the FBI. But, this particular person was being more forceful, more insistent. He required them to finally meet as he had an offer to make. Wilson, intrigued, opted to put his other plans on hold until he heard what this potential partner could possibly give him.

# # #

Rogue made the acquaintance of her teammates, Antonio del Toro and Robert Lowe, after breakfast. They were friendly and she permitted herself to form a comradery with them. Both were drafted from the Marines. Del Toro came from infantry, the 2nd Battalion 2nd Marines—nicknamed the Timberwolf—and Lowe hailed from the 1st reconnaissance battalion.

She learned about them while Nick went over the other fireteams and gave them their learning assignments. Antonio del Toro wasn't married but he had a family of five brothers and three sisters. Parents who loved him very much, she learned. Lowe showed them a picture of his wife and newborn twin boys.

"So what about you, Lori? Are you seeing anyone? Got any family? Any kids?" Del Toro asked her. He wasn't particularly curious as he was gay, but he wanted to get to know her better.

"Ah am. And before you ask, he's an ex-Marine." She blushed. "For kin, Ah have a half-brother, no children. Ah'm not sure Ah want any at this stage in my life."

"No such thing as a former Marine ma'am. Once a Marine, it's in your blood for life." Robert informed her with a grin at her blush.

 _Maybe it was true. He still had many of the habits Ah suspect he picked up in the service._ "Ah reckon you're probably right. Ah'll just call him a retired Marine and let it go at that."

Nick sauntered up to them with his usual cocksure stride and told them what to do, with a measured tone of a seasoned commander of personnel. "For your first week: Marksmanship until 9, then first aid. After that, close quarters combat and stealth technique training until quitting time. You will be doing KP duty from 5:30 to 6:00. After that, the time is yours to use as you see fit. Del Toro and Lowe will show you where the rec hall is."

The day went on as described by the crusty soldier. The instructor for Marksmanship was suitably impressed with her accuracy and marked her down as the sniper for the fireteam. Nick had thought that would be her role, but was pleased at the confirmation from the specialist. Del Toro would take on the assault role and Lowe assumed communications and was surprisingly adept at field medicine. Rogue, as mentioned, would be the sniper scout.

Rogue spent some time at the rec hall to wind down before taking a shower and hitting the hay. She watched as the others laughed and played a video game called Call of Duty. Lowe roped her into playing a round.

"God bless it." She swore as she died for the umpteenth time. When someone tried to take the controller away, she shot him a glance. "Just one last time." The other agents of S.W.O.R.D laughed knowingly. She proceeded to do better against the other participants and she got hooked on it.

The clock chimed ten times when she dragged herself off to her personal quarters. She spied a pay phone. She dialed up the number of Frank's message service, not daring to dial his personal disposable phone. That, he stressed, was for emergencies only. "Ah'm doing ok here. The day went well and Ah'm getting along with people. It'll be hard work, but Ah ain't ever been afraid of a little sweat. Ah miss and Ah love you." She hung up then prepared herself for bed and the next go-round of training.


	2. Out In the Cold

Frank itched with restlessness and was not willing to settle in for the night, so he instead roamed through the streets. The safe house seemed empty, like it now missed an important part of itself, and he did not want to spend any more time in it than was necessary. He listened to Rogue's message before he left and was glad for her update on regarding her first day.

 _It's good for her. She'll meet other people._ _And do things._ He thought as his boots hit the ground. He smelled the noxious odors of city life, of car exhausts, of unwashed street bums. Frank passed a man he knew was a homeless vet as he held up a sign asking for money so he could get dinner. Frank gave him ten dollars and a Semper Fi. The vet thanked him with not quite sane and hungry eyes. They were eyes that had seen too much, echoes of war shone back through them. Frank had seen those eyes in 'Nam. Frank watched as the man went into a nearby McDonald's and purchased a coffee and a couple of plain cheeseburger. _Not everyone in this city is a lying asshole, I guess._

Frank moved on, his good deed done. He went down an alley, a shortcut to a dive he liked to frequent. Not for the liquor, but for the news. The large man paused, hearing a thin wail. _I know a baby's cry when I hear it._ He let the sound draw him to a dumpster, and he opened it to find a swaddled infant crying fiercely on top of a heap of garbage. He scowled and immediately scooped out the child and tucked it inside his trench coat. He simmered with rage, a cold eruption that would freeze dry and shatter anyone who was responsible for this. Frank noticed there was a camera that monitored the alley and decided to come back later to the business and see if he could get the tapes.

The baby needed care first. He went to a pharmacy and told a female clerk, a matronly and friendly sort, what happened. The older woman expressed her wrath in the way a New Yorker knows best. Colorful language. Fortunately for him, she was also the manager and she took the both of them to a back room.

"I'll get some diapers and baby formula going." She said with a great deal of authority then rushed off to get things started.

He thanked her. He checked over the baby for injuries. Aside from a few scrapes, nothing to worry about. The child was male. A cloud of dark hair graced his head. With some surprise, he saw the stubs of black wings. _He's a mutant._ He wondered, knowing many people did not like mutants, if that was why he had been thrown away.

The manager came back with diapers and a blanket. She saw the budding wings but obviously didn't care. "You get a fresh diaper on that butt and warm him up."

"Yes, ma'am." He did as she ordered and held the child as she finished doing whatever it was that people did in order to feed a child. She tested the formula on her wrist and decided the temperature was fine. She passed the bottle to him.

"Well, feed him. Young man, you rescued him. So you get the privilege. Besides, I have a store to run. If you need anything, ask and I'll get it for you."

He accepted it with some delicacy and popped the rubber nipple into the child's mouth, who eagerly drank it down. Frank thought the child still felt a little cool, so he wrapped the coat around him and kept him close. "I just need a phone. I'll need to make a call to law enforcement." His lips tightened and the baby stopped for a moment, then went back to eating. _Or someone who could help. Maybe not the police._ He doubted they would be much concerned with the welfare of a mutant child. _Someone with connections to the X-men. They'll make sure the kid will be safe._ She tossed him a phone before scuttling off. He stood up and made a call to someone—Matt Murdock actually—who knew the Institute's unlisted phone number. _I certainly don't want to take care of him._

It just so happened he reached Logan, who sounded a mite grumpy. "It's Frank. I wouldn't be contacting you unless it was important." He then went on about the baby. Logan and Frank had their differences, lots of them, but Frank knew that Logan—at the very least—would protect the child with his last breath. They were both killers, but they had a mutual respect for each other.

"Damn it, Frank, whoever did that was cold." Logan's grumpiness turned rougher, turned into genuine anger. He, like Frank, tended to regard children more fondly than adults. "If I ever caught who did something like that, I'd slice them six ways to Sunday."

"I know this was a deliberate attempt at murder. Someone does not accidentally lose their child in a dumpster. I'm going to track down the shitwad who left that child and administer to them what they deserve." Frank vowed, his voice deepened the more furious he became.

"Good. The redhead and I will be down in about an hour. Stay where you're at." After getting the address, Logan hung up. Like Frank, he was not one for long, drawn out goodbyes.

The baby slept quietly now, warm and well-fed. Francis David Castiglione Jr. He remembered holding his son—who was born while he did his second tour of Vietnam—and thinking how fragile his son's bones were, so in need of protection and care. David was not dead but the memory of him troubled Frank. What could have been haunted him. _How could anyone toss a child out in the garbage like that?_ He knew that he'd never leave any child of his with no home. If Rogue got knocked up, not likely because he was using protection, he'd man up and do the right thing. He would make sure they were taken care of. He looked down at the child and decided humanity was beginning to piss him off.

The manager came back to visit with them briefly. "I called people who will help him. I can assure you, he will be in a safe place." He said to the older woman.

"That's good. I have grandkids of my own and the thought of any baby abandoned like that, makes my stomach do angry somersaults. Ya know?" She would have played with him, but the baby was still asleep.

"I know." He made an attempt to pay her for everything but she flatly refused.

"That kid being in a good environment is payment enough for me." She leaned in toward Frank and confided. "One of my own children is a mutant and he's had some tough times. I never understood what the big fuss was about after I had him. They're human, too."

Frank was befuddled as to why people confided in him. He gave the impression that he was far from friendly on purpose. He was, as some poet might say, a still water that ran deep, so maybe people accurately perceived him as an excellent listener. Thoughts of mutants turned to thinking of Lori. Rogue's power carried a heavy weight that he didn't envy her for. _She suffers enough persecution from herself. She doesn't need to put up with that bullshit from normal people._

The door rang and a scruffy looking man strode in. His hair was as feral as he, jet black and he held the same jaded expression that Frank remembered. He was accompanied by a very beautiful redhead with emerald eyes that could pierce through steel. Just then, Frank recalled that he wasn't as old as he used to be. To the manager, he said, "Those two are the people picking up the baby. Let them come back into the break room." He went and gathered the baby's things. The break room also was dimly lit, which would help conceal his apparent youth.

"You're lookin' good, Frank." Logan squinted up at him, but Frank shrugged it off.

"I've been getting my beauty sleep." He glanced toward the lovely lady, who wasn't paying much attention to Frank. It was the baby she wanted and he gave the infant to her care. She immediately smiled and cooed down at him.

"You have a name for him?" Logan asked.

"No. He's not mine. Not my responsibility." Frank shifted on his feet and handed the baby stuff to the short man, since the woman was busy being all motherly to the boy.

Logan grinned. "We'll call him Frankie." He thought that would tweak Frank's nose a little.

Castle grimaced, but didn't reward Logan with a comeback. Instead, he turned and walked away. Another good deed performed. _Two in one night. A record._ He wondered if he had a cosmic sign above his head reading: _I'm a sucker. Please apply here if you're an innocent and need help._

"Frankie is an adorable name." Jean agreed with Logan.

Frank just KNEW that was what they were going to call the child. And he had the sudden thought of Mystique. He stopped and went back to the duo. He decided he should tell them what he knew of her and a very abbreviated version—omitting the details of his family, of course—of Rogue's tale and her involvement. He kept her anonymous.

"That's absolutely dreadful." Jean's brow furrowed. "But you shouldn't have killed her, Frank."

Frank was about to say something very sharp and biting, but Logan spoke up before he could. Logan had seen the beginnings of that cutting remark in Castle's ice blue eyes.

"Sometimes, darlin', there's no help for it. Castle did what he had to do. Besides, no prison could hold her. Not for long. Thanks for the heads up on Mystique. Seems odd that she'd go for a human, but maybe the love of power overcame her distaste for non-mutants. Or maybe she had a master plan." Logan gave Jean a look that warned her not to mouth off to Frank.

"I think the latter. Fisk bit off more than he could chew with her." Frank responded.

Jean asked, "What about the young woman? If she's a mutant, she's more than welcome to live with us."

Frank shook her head. "She's off pursuing a career." Not to mention, Rogue had a huge distrust of fellow mutants—of which he did not blame her. "I'm out of here. I don't have time for small talk." He felt that he said what he needed to, now it was time to go find the shitbag that left the baby behind like a piece of rubbish.

Logan wondered exactly what that career happened to be, but kept the question to himself. None of his business or Jean's either. "Let's go, Jean. We're almost out of time on the meter and it's a long drive back to the mansion."

Frank left out the back and headed toward where he found the baby. It didn't take him long to find the establishment that had the camera.

He went in and discovered that it was a Goth clothing store. Racks of different styles of gothic clothing decorated the place. There were artistic bohemian style peasant blouses to thigh length black boots to t-shirts with the name of the latest emo band on them. The clerk, a woman with purple hair and black garb, perked up when she saw him. _That man is freaking hot. And scary. Maybe he's hot because he's scary. Wonder what he's packing?_

"Can I help you find something, sir? Could I interest you in some leather pants and an open shirt?" She opined that would be the outfit he'd look the best in.

He noticed the interested mien in her eyes and read her nameplate: Ariel. "Ariel, I need to examine your security tapes."

"Are you law enforcement?" She asked, still checking him out. _Hey, I can dream can't I?_

"Something like that, I guess you could say." He said, dryly, not outright lying to her but let her think what she wanted to. Aware that she checked him out, he was not averse to using that to his advantage. After all, nothing untoward was going to happen so why not? Especially if it gave him additional information. _There must be something fundamentally wrong with women who take an interest in me._ He included Rogue in that line of contemplation. He knew what was wrong with Lori, though.

"Follow me, hot stuff." Ariel winked and sashayed back to the utility room, her fingers holding back a spider themed curtain. She kept the curtain back so she could listen for more customers. There was a desk and computer equipment at the ready. She took the chair and brought up the security camera.

"Thank you for helping. Someone tossed a kid in the dumpster and I want to find out who did it. The kid's fine, now, but this person …."

Ariel, appalled at the very notion of such a horrible action, became serious and she dug around the video feed. About thirty minutes, after she brought up video of him rescuing the baby, she discovered who did it. "I know that woman." Ariel pointed at the individual, picture paused as she opened the lid and proceeded to dump the squirming bundle of joy. "She's a frequent customer. Her name is Samantha Falcon? Or Falconi, I can't recall which. She always pays in cash, so there's no credit card receipts."

"Is there any way to print the picture?"

"Yes. On occasion, we do it for the police." She had come to the conclusion that he wasn't a police officer but a 'concerned' citizen. Maybe even _(here her heart beat wildly)_ a vigilante. "Want me to try and enhance the image for you?" Ariel asked. She wanted to help this guy—undeniably a scarily handsome guy—catch this bitch.

"I'd appreciate it, miss. If you could give me other details, that would be helpful."

Frank watched as she enhanced the image, made it clear and even lightened it up for him. He saw that she had a facial tattoo of a heart with a knife going through it. MOTHER, it said in the middle of the heart. People who disfigured their face in such a fashion, usually had trouble in their background, whether it be mental or drugs. Possibly both. But that tattoo would make it easier to find her.

"She always acts weird when she's in here. One time, her thinking seemed disorganized and I almost had to kick her out of the store. That's why I remember her. I don't come across that kind of behavior very often." Ariel paused, then added in a thoughtful way. She chewed absently on a lock of purple hair. It was a habit she did often. "I think she was on drugs, she stumbled and her eyes were glazed over. But I can't say for sure." She hit a button on the keyboard and the screen made its way onto a piece of glossy paper, courtesy of a printer.

Ariel handed the print to him. "That's all I can help you with. I hope you bring her to justice. Or justice to her. I don't care which." She smiled up at the tall man who remained unmoved.

"You've done enough. Thank you." Frank said.

"Not a problem." She heard the door chime, announcing a customer. "But I've got a store to attend to. My dad bought this for me to keep me busy and I like being a store owner. Hope to see you around."

 _Her father must be rich. Glad she has something to do, and I hope for her sake that she stays away from assholes like me._ Frank thought. Girls who liked bad boys usually ended up pregnant and alone. He remained old fashioned enough to find that repugnant.

After he departed the store, he began to consider what the next step in the plan would be. It'd take a few days at least to track her down. He suspected if she caught wind of him, she'd run—if she were coherent, that is—away and make a very futile attempt to hide herself. _She could have other children. Better prepare for that._

He took his time. He was deliberate. He used everything at his disposal, from the phone books to a friendly call to Detective Soap. Frank might have called his son instead, but David remained preoccupied with physical therapy and caring for Trent. As mentioned by the helpful Goth girl, her name was Samantha Falconi. She happened to be the illegitimate offspring of an Italian restaurateur. She had a drug record, used everything from pot to crank. There were a few disorderly conduct charges under her belt, but nothing that was violent. Soap told him that she had three other children, ranging from two to six and that they lived in a two bedroom, derelict apartment building in the Bronx. They lived off of child support and welfare checks. Soap supplied him with an address. He recognized it as being in the most drug addled neighborhood Frank was aware of. Those young children did not stand a chance. If they didn't accidentally get murdered, then they'd follow their mother's example and become a druggie. Or worse.

Frank, clad in a tank top, worked at his table and finished with the maintenance of his M1911. Samantha presented a predicament. She did not deserve to have her children, that fact was irrefutable. And he would not permit her to keep them. But, he sensed as if it would be too detrimental to her other progeny's psychological well-being to kill her. Especially in the apartment. He determined his course of action, put on his Skull shirt, grabbed his mask and headed out.

 _The building stood as a testament to all the slum lords in this rotten city_ , he reflected. _Not safe for man or rat._ The streets were relatively quiet—not a good sign. He didn't even see pimps or drug pushers out. _People must have to stay in this late at night._ She lived in a corner apartment on the third floor. It would allow for easy escape, he noted. He started climbing up and grimaced as he observed just how flimsy the fire escape seemed to be. _I'll be trying a different way out of here. I don't trust the metal to hold my weight for long._ _This building is a death trap._

He searched for apartment number 303, boots clomping like the sound of doom on the 'antique' and well-worn floor. The Punisher located it within five minutes. He then knocked on the door and she answered it.

The tattoo and the after effect of drugs destroyed what could have been a lovely face. "Hey there, stud. Don't worry. The kids are in their room. It'll be the customary charge, depending on what you want. Thirty bucks for a blowjob, sixty for full sex, and a cool hundred for anal."

The mere idea of paying to have sex with this female was more than he could stand. He barged in, then scowled as his eyes took in the scene. Needles littered the battered coffee table. A beer can rolled briefly across the very worn carpet when he kicked it. A chair was put under the door knob, obviously to keep the kiddos contained.

"I'm not here for sex." He stated. "What I am here for is to ask you why you tossed your son away? You'll find that it'll go easier for you if you tell the truth."

Her slightly glazed eyes widened as he stepped closer to her and revealed his skull mask. Then the skull shirt. Her hands fluttered like wild raccoons, but she stammered. "Mutant lives don't matter."

Frank sneered under his mask. If it weren't for those innocents, he would kill her. "I'm going to call the police; they'll get child welfare involved. What I want for you is to give your children up permanently to the state."

"No! They're my children. I love them!" Samantha objected. Then she perceived how sizable the man was, towered over her by a foot. She shrank back.

"If you loved them, you wouldn't subject them to an existence such as this. You are going to give up your children. I don't give a god damn if you fuck up your own life, but let them try to get out of this hell hole and find people who will raise them right." He became as menacing as possible, dark and foreboding.

She shivered, finding herself to be absolutely terrified. The white skull gleamed with unholy light. Unholy light. "Okay, I'll sign…sign them over."

"If I find you ever try to get them back, I WILL kill you." He said, so coldly the woman thought she would freeze to death. He wanted her to be sure that he meant what he said. She nodded frantically, and crumbled down on her threadbare couch. He dialed the cops, relayed all the information, then stayed until the last moment so she couldn't try to hide the evidence.

He hovered at the window when the cops knocked and she, tremulous, let them in. With some care, he took her fire escape—sturdier than the last —down and disappeared into the night.


	3. Things Are Afoot

_This was hard work,_ Rogue thought as she and her teammates pushed their way through a heavily forested area. All three of them were weighted down with gear and guns. They were instructed to find their way back to a temporary base, where they'd need to be in the top five groups to win. The prize was not having to do the five-mile jog back to the truck. Especially since missing that truck would mean no dinner. Everyone was highly motivated to win.

So Fireteam Arctic Fox—the name appointed to the trio—had incentive to beat the other teams. Rogue took rear position. Del Toro was point. The three of them then climbed a hill, bushes slapped their clothes and Lori winced at a particularly sharp thwap of a skinny branch taken to the face. He hesitated and shot back a smile at his teammates. "We're almost there. I see the flags. I don't know if the others are there, but let's not waste time.

"Agreed." Lowe said. He didn't want to risk getting left behind. They let themselves halfway slide down the hill and they broke into a ground eating trot when they reached the flat ground. Rogue spied another fireteam approach from the south.

She saw their insignia on their chests, which was a bird on fire, and reported. "Fireteam Phoenix Rising is on our six. Bust ass, gentlemen." They jogged quicker, sweat formed on their brows. Fireteam Phoenix Rising responded in kind. As it turned out, they weren't the first groups there but Arctic Fox and Phoenix Rising were the last fireteams to have won.

"Surprised a woman could hack it. Most can't meet the physical requirement." That remark came from a member of the Phoenix Rising team. A Vincent Thompson. "Hell, I'm surprised that you're a sniper."

Rogue shrugged. "Vincent, don't think of me as someone with tits, think of me as a soldier who is a better marksman than you by far. Ah proved it yesterday. Ah out stalked and outshot you." A couple of woos accompanied her statement. She'd thrown down the gauntlet and they all knew it. She didn't tolerate sexist assholes—male or female-and Vincent seemed like he was shaping up to be a big brown one.

Vincent Thompson wanted to say something more, but Nick Fury walked through the clustered groups. He gave a blank look to Thompson, who wisely kept his big yap shut. "You all did good and you will eat tonight. As for the other groups, it won't kill them to miss a meal. They'll not be so lucky in the field if they fall behind."

He motioned for them to pile in the truck, except for Vincent Thompson and Rogue. "You two stay behind and wait for the other teams. I don't tolerate my personnel giving each other shit." Nick decided the both of them needed a lesson. "Your life could be in her hands and vice versa, so this bullshit will stop here and now. Work your issues out."

"Yes, Director Fury." Rogue thought that she deserved the rebuke. _Ah was being unprofessional._

But Vincent gloated. It was true; Rogue did outshoot him. But his resentment stemmed more from the fact that he couldn't figure where she came from. What were her qualifications? She obviously did not serve in any of the armed branches, yet she was extremely skilled. She could call out wind and knew weather patterns. Her observational skill was better than his. Her field sketches were accurate. She was excellent at day and night navigation. Lori proved she knew how to stalk her target, having got an average nine out of ten attempts. He passed with seven. She had been complimented on choosing excellent FFPs, final firing positions.

Hell, everything she did was just soooooooooo perfect. Too god damned perfect if you asked him.

He, in short, was envious. She seemed so young that it was not natural for her to be so good. Twenty years old and a sniper? Most were mid-twenties, or at the very least, about twenty-three. Three years made a big difference. He thought that maybe she got to where she was because she fucked Nick Fury. Everyone knew Nick liked sticking it in pretty young things. It still didn't account for her skill, though. Sniper skills weren't sexually transmitted as far he knew.

"How'd you get so good, Williams?"

"Ah worked for a private security firm." She replied, as she plunked down and waited for the others.

Vincent scoffed. He did not believe that for a second and told her.

"That's all Ah'm saying. Feel free to not believe me." Rogue said, serenely as she watched the other teams come shuffling down the embankment in shame. "You don't have to like me, Thompson, just respect me and stop trying to treat me like shit. It ain't gonna work, so you might as well save your breath."

Vincent shrugged. If that was how the bitch wanted it, that's how he would roll. For now.

The march back exhausted all of them and they had already marched about ten miles before that. Rogue dragged herself into the shower, dressed, then flopped on her bed. All she wanted was some peace and quiet, not to be bothered by anyone ever again. She noticed the envelope on her nightstand. No return address, but the mail stamp was from New York. She managed a small smile. _Ah'll read it later when I have the energy._ Then she was out like a light.

A knock on her door awoke her out of a deep slumber. "It's Fury. May I come in?"

She sat up immediately and straightened her nightclothes. "Yes, sir."

"Need I remind you to not call me sir? That's for military men who have their head up their ass." He came in with a sandwich and some chips. He tossed them to her. "Sorry about having to punish you too. I know you were defending yourself, but I really can't have that kind of behavior among my men. It's bad for morale."

"That's ok. Ah understand why you had to do it, papa Fury." She was thankful for the food and gave him a cheeky grin. This did feel like a father sneaking in some food to a misbehaving child behind the mother's back.

He laughed at her, then sobered. "I'm going to be keeping an eye on him. Well, ok, half an eye. I don't like backbiting behavior and I don't like that he seems to be an instigator. If he gives you crap, let me know privately."

"Ah will." She promised.

Nick wanted to know more about her, about her history. "What was your life like? After you ran away from the foster care system?"

Rogue grew a little sad, but answered him. She and Frank had this discussion before her departure, but it hurt to bring it up. She said, more lightly than she felt, "Well, Ah learned that fast food dumpsters were an adequate source of 'nutrition'. Sometimes Ah even found a salad that wasn't too bad. Ah stole from grocery stores, stole clothes from church donation bins when needed. Ah would have gone in and asked for some, except Ah was so afraid they'd turn me in. Slept only when necessary, and that was in the daylight. In parks. Ah stayed away from two or more men and could run like the wind if needed. And Ah needed to, once or twice." She took a deep pause and Nick thought she was through. "Ah kept my eyes open and stayed away from people who gave me the willies, and at that time, Ah trusted damn few people. A friendly homeless man gave me a knife to defend myself. He was worried, of course, about a twelve-year-old girl out on the streets. Ah stopped coming around him when he tried to get the cops to catch me. Ah couldn't trust him after that."

"You grew up rough." Nick said. He guessed it helped forge her into the strong woman sitting beside him.

"Ah might have had a rough patch." Rogue admitted. "But Ah never let it change me or the compassion Ah feel for those not as fortunate. However, Ah don't tolerate disrespect and Ah feel Ah have to speak up when it happens."

Nick nodded his agreement. This made her behavior toward Vincent understandable. "When did you meet Mystique?"

"Ah was stealing something from her car, don't remember what. Probably some money for a bite to eat, since Ah was too young to sell stuff in the pawn stores. Anyway, we talked and she found out that Ah was a mutant. She showed me her blue skin and offered me a home." She smiled. "Ah met her wife, Irene. Life was good until Irene died of old age. That, that changed her. Raven grew cruel and careless. She tried to convince me to touch and kill Carol Danvers because that would be the best for me. Ah said no. Raven whipped me. Ah still said no. So she sold me off to some goombahs."

"That was where you made the acquaintance of Castle." He said.

"It's funny but he's the first person in my life who gave a damn about me. Ah know my mother didn't. Not really. If she did, she would never have stayed with Leroy. She wouldn't have committed suicide by cop. Irene tolerated me, but she always held herself aloof from most people. Her mutant ability was being able to foresee the future. She told me mine: Madness is her destiny. Her sorrow will nourish the angels. Ah've never forgot that and Ah'll confess that it made me stay away from here." She ate the last potato chip before continuing. "Mystique? Nyah, she just wanted me to risk everything that Ah am so she could have someone strong around to use as she saw fit."

Hard life, indeed. Nick squeezed her shoulder but said nothing. He had no words to give. Sad to think that someone like Frank, though Nick knew he had the capacity for some form of compassion, was the first person to care.

"Ah don't need everyone to like or love me, but they sure as hell will respect me as a person. But," she said, "that doesn't mean Ah need to backtalk. It doesn't reflect well on me or where Ah came from. Ah apologize and can guarantee that it won't happen again."

Nick stood up. "See that it doesn't, Lori. I best let you go back to sleep. Tomorrow's going to be intense."

# # #

Maria Hill worked alone in the administration office. The office assistants and Nick had long since went to their evening rest and that gave her time to delve into the personnel records of the new recruits. She poured through them and photocopied all files. There were about ninety of them. There were other ways to gather these files and sensitive data, but she preferred for there not to be an electronic trail. It took longer going the paper route, but infinitely safer.

She paused at a picture and resume of one Lorelai "Lori" Williams. Beautiful woman, deadly sniper. Strange, she thought, most of the pertinent information has been redacted such as education and personal data. No living relatives, even. Except for her skills—that was on the record only because it had to be, Maria thought. Maria put a note on the photocopy: Bears special investigating. She put that one on top of the growing pile of intel.

After she was finished with that tedious task, she shoved everything into a manila envelope, weighed and put a pre-paid stamp on it, wrote down a New York address, then placed the package in her suitcase. Meticulously, she put back every file where she found it. Maria lived off base and she'd send the requested information at a suitably located post office.

She glanced at the clock and decided she needed to move and move fast. As things currently stood, she was only going to get a few hours' worth of sleep and Nick expected her to be here at six. _Sorry to have to do this, people, but I am getting paid far too well._ Soon, she wouldn't have to work for the CIA at all, and she envisioned herself in some exotic locale with her feet in crystal blue water. _Screw Nick Fury and screw the CIA._

The envelope bore the name and address of one Von Strucker.

 _# # #_

The morning came and went through the familiarity of exercises and classes. Lori loved the routine and the daily grind. The structure and discipline appealed to her, which were qualities that she lacked earlier in life. As the day progressed, she went through drills with her fireteam. Both of her teammates kept a wary eye on Vincent, and she maintained her guard around him as well. Not that Vincent was being a pain today. He remained polite and focused on the task at hand.

Rogue wondered what was up with Vincent. _Who says something's afoot? Maybe Fury chewed him out in private. Anyway, he's not worth the time and energy to worry about._ As this particular exercise concluded, everyone finished up with cleaning out their rifles and put them back into the armory, while a sergeant counted up the weapons. When they were all accounted for, the recruits were permitted to file out and head for the admin building where they were to receive a treat, so Nick had said.

The President was there, tall and golden. He smiled, and Rogue knew he was more than the President. Steven Rogers was the physical representation of America at her very best. Every single new S.W.O.R.D recruit stood at attention without having been reminded. Rogers, formerly Captain America, walked through the rows of people. People had come here from all walks of life and represented all the armed forces. However, some new members didn't have any military background. He stopped in front of Rogue. Hers had been the first resume he had seen. Her face seemed sculpted of porcelain—delicate and fine-and heavily reminiscent of the women back in the forties. She had clear alabaster skin. Her lips were a deep rose, and he knew she did not wear makeup. She was a natural beauty. Startlingly ice blue eyes peered up at him with a mixture of deference and awe. Under different circumstances, Rogue would have been a woman he'd be attracted to.

Yet, that beauty belied her skills. He hoped that Nick was right about her. Steve had gotten the full story on her background and while he would not trust the Punisher, perhaps the girl would be different. She was young enough, he supposed, to be molded into a respectable soldier. And he could not argue with her accuracy.

"I thank you for volunteering. I'm here to tell you that you have passed and that your services are needed on the field. Immediately." He paused. "You will be given your first assignments tonight then head out in the early morning. I know that you will all do your best." With that, he left for Air Force One. He had business to conduct with a certain FBI agent in New York City.

Everyone murmured with excitement. "We really passed, Nick?" someone yelled from the back. Someone from fireteam Blood Hawk, she surmised.

"Yes. We rushed all of you because you're needed. I must stress that you would not have been graduated unless you were ready to be deployed." Nick told the assembled teams. "I suggest you call your nearest and dearest. Tell them that you love them and will be able to come home this weekend for a visit."

Cheers went up and everyone filed off to make their calls. Rogue slunk off to make hers. She left a brief message and told him she would be coming home for a weekend visit, if he didn't mind. She didn't say she was going on a mission, though, she thought Nick would want her to stay mum. _Ah want one of those damn burgers at the Diner!_ _Ah want to sleep in with Frank and maybe do other things than sleep._ She was thinking of all the secret ways to kiss and drive him mad.

# # #

A knock on the door disturbed David from his nap on the couch. He dreamt of Maria, her golden hair and smile. He remembered her saying to him that she loved him very much and needed David to look after his father. She then faded to a shadow of herself then was gone. The young Frank Junior in his dream cried out for her in vain. _I've been trying to evoke what memories I have of Mother. Guess it worked. I don't know about taking care of Father. In about twenty years, he'll have to take care of me._

Another knock, more persistent, made him rise from the couch and meander over to the door. He wore sweatpants and a t-shirt. That suited him just fine. He was enjoying his time off. "On my way," David said. He peeked through the window and saw a couple of suits just outside. Judging by the headgear, he judged the two men to be Secret Service. Besides the FBI did not carry themselves quite like they did.

David did as any smart man would do and opened the door. "Hello. I'm David Castiglione. How may I help you?" He ran a hand through his newly cut hair, thankful that it was too short to be in disarray. He wished he were dressed in jeans and a nicer shirt, at least.

The taller man nodded at David. "The President would like to talk to you, Mr. Castiglione. Mind if we sweep the house first?"

"Sure. I'm sorry about the boxes. My son and I have just moved in." Yeah, a couple of months ago, he rebuked himself. Some of those boxes contained the belongings of his children that were gone. David still had a hard time reconciling that they were dead. He knew it, intellectually, but did not want to believe it.

"It's fine, Mr. Castiglione. We don't care about boxes." The men were thorough and proficient. It took them only a fifteen minutes to clear and deem the house safe for President Steve Rogers.

When Steve Rogers came in, David stood up and they shook hands. Both of them had a firm handshake. Steve smiled very warmly at David. His first impression told him that David was the candidate he was searching for. "This is an honor, Mr. President. It's too bad my boy couldn't be here. He'd love to meet you."

"I might meet him someday. And please, call me Steve." Both of the men sat on the couch. Steve spoke up again. "How would you like to serve your country? I know why you're on sabbatical and I can't blame you for taking that time off, but I think your country truly needs a man like you at a time like this. We need someone willing to fight the corruption in our law enforcement."

David frowned, not positive as to the direction of this conversation. "I'm not positive I even want to remain in the FBI, Mr—Steve. I had given some thought to going back to college and becoming a social worker."

Steve nodded, "That's a noble goal, too. But I'd like to appoint you to the office of the FBI Director."

David blinked, rather slowly. "Don't you need the approval of Congress?" Astounded. He was astounded that he would be considered for such a high office and also very flattered. He wondered how his name came up. Surely, he wasn't that distinguished. He hoped it wasn't because of the illegal arms import business.

"Already got it, though the committee wants to talk with you. Your record is golden; you are well respected among your peers. I just need your consent to proceed." Steve said. "But why don't you mull it over and get back to me. Tonight. Either way." Steve rose to his feet and had a Secret Service agent hand David a card with the President's number on it.

David had to consider Trent's feelings. His son had just settled into the house and a new school. He knew Trent liked the daily routine. But being the FBI Director would also give them a great deal of protection. No one in their right mind would go after the Director or his son. Not even Fisk. David made up his mind to ask his son. "I'll let you know by eight."

At dinner, the conversation had begun with David asking how he liked school.

Trent just looked at his father, paused in the middle of hoisting a forkful of spaghetti to his mouth. "It's school, Dad. How do you think I like it?"

David choked back a laugh and maintained his fatherly air. "Are you making friends? Do you like it here?"

"Not really, Dad." His young mind tried to find a way to describe the kids in New York. "Kids my age seem older than they are. They're not mean, but I dunno how to describe them. The nuns are nice, though."

David told him about the job offer. He believed in being honest and upfront with his offspring. "It would mean that we'd have to relocate to D.C. Before I accept, I'd like to know how you feel about it." David ate his meal slowly.

Trent shrugged. "I don't have friends here, Dad." Nor did Trent want friends. _Getting close to people just got you hurt_ , he mused, _and I don't want to get hurt again_. Trent didn't tell his father that. He just wanted to keep to himself and stay in his own mind where he could be safe from harm. He wanted to read his books and poetry, listen to his pop music.

David frowned. Something bothered Trent, though, David knew his boy well enough to see that. _Maybe this therapist isn't a good match. When we move, I'll see if I can find a better one. I don't like that he is pulling back._ Trent was always a shy child, but the incident made him even more reclusive. David sighed, wanting only to figure out what was the best for his son. They finished their spaghetti quietly.

After dinner, Trent ran to his room to lose himself in a good book. David rinsed and put away the dishes. The card lay on the granite counter and he picked it up. He reached into his pocket, dialed the number. The phone rang three times before the President himself answered it.

"Hello, Mr. President. I'd like to take you up on that job."


	4. Sins and Secrets

Baron Wolfgang von Strucker accepted the polite offering of a comfortable seat at Wilson Fisk's desk. He noticed that the items, various knickknacks of a personal nature, on the desk had not been altered. It seemed that Mr. Fisk did not like change, or at least that was the opinion of Baron von Strucker. However, there was a lovely blue lady sitting to the right of the enormous man. He assumed she was an assassin of some sort, judging by the gun she carried, the holster poking slightly into her side.

Several years ago, he and Fisk fashioned a deal. They had made a plan. He needed to get weapons into the country and came up with the bold idea of using already established smuggling rings. That meant dealing with the crime ridden underworld. Von Strucker met with Wilson Fisk and was immediately taken by his cool, well-mannered demeanor.

"I'm sorry for the regrettable loss." Wilson Fisk said, a ponderous baritone that could be menacing given proper motivation.

Baron Von Strucker was not upset because he understood such losses were inevitable. "To tell you the truth, I meant for the FBI to find that shipment. It distracted the agency long enough to finish getting the rest of my men in."

"How many men do you have in the States?" Wilson Fisk inquired.

"Enough to bring down my targets." In truth, he had about five hundred thousand men at the ready. It had taken him about five years to bring them in. America was foolish to not be more proactive in guarding her borders, he scoffed. As for how many men he had, that was not a number he desired to disclose, even to a (more or less) trusted partner like Fisk. He took his time crafting this scheme, hatching smaller ones to keep the likes of Fury busy. He hired telepaths, people he used to track down particularly troublesome. He would be using them later on in his master scheme.

Then, of course, he had his high ranking spy in the S.H.I.E.L.D and S.W.O.R.D ranks. A woman who had provided him with valuable intel on the newest recruits. It was this fact that brought him to the office of Fisk. He had personnel files of the recruits who stated they lived in New York, which was about four of them.

"Fair enough answer." Wilson Fisk. "How may I be of assistance to you?"

Von Strucker slid the manila file folder over to Fisk. The blue woman took it. Fisk did not like people, other than her, handing him objects. "I want you to bribe these recruits, try to get them on our side. Use whatever currency you want or require. I will reimburse you."

Mystique pointed at the file on top, finger lightly resting on the picture of a young woman. She recognized Rogue's face instantly, as she retained the memories of her former self. "This was my foster daughter. I last saw her with the man known as the Punisher. They seemed chummy." She appeared to contemplate what to do. "I could take on her appearance and get close to him. Only trouble would be to locate the man; he moves around quite frequently."

"I tell you what, Baron von Strucker, I'll help you with interviewing and bribing Fury's new 'recruits', if you'll assist my lady in her goal." Wilson Fisk offered. _Tit for tat_ , he mused. Also, he wasn't thrilled about Mystique going after Frank again, but they did have the advantage of the vigilante believing that she perished at his hand. The quote, 'Insanity is doing the same thing, over and over again, but expecting different results', sprang to his mind. _Raven might have a bolt or two loose_ , he mused. _Better put a bridle on her._ For an instant, he now doubted the wisdom of having three of her around. And, he also noted, she wasn't quite the same. Nothing he could put his finger on, but there was something off.

"It's a deal, I'll lend you one of my telepaths." Von Stucker said. It wasn't a big deal as he wanted to position the telepath in question in New York City for a future 'job'.

Frank received the message Rogue left for him. While he'd given her permission to leave a cell number with Fury (a spare disposable phone, naturally) for emergencies only, he preferred this method. _I knew she could do it._ But he was surprised she desired to spend her first leave with him. Part of him both anticipated and feared that she'd go elsewhere. _She deserves someone else._

He, in the meantime, kept his head low as possible. The paper he now held in his hand had an article titled: _Has the Punisher become the Vanisher?_ It was a fluffy opinion piece that to Frank's astonishment seemed to be pro-Punisher. He read it while drinking his coffee, amused that someone would take the effort to write a piece that would be construed as inflammatory. _The Daily Bugle is going to receive many interesting letters, but to generate 'interest' might be the point of that piece of journalism._

Another article caught his eye. _New FBI Director Appointed._ His eyebrow raised as he read David Castiglione accepted the position after a Congressional committee met and approved of him. _No one in their right mind will go after the Director. Not even Fisk would be that foolhardy. David made the move that'll protect his son the best._ The article, of course, detailed the tragedy and mentioned his other two children were currently serving in the military. The article finished up with a thoughtful concluding sentence. _This man, who has passed on the passion to serve one's country to his children, will serve the FBI well given his outstanding reputation and admirable sense of responsibility._

Frank supposed that was true. He also probably wouldn't get to talk with David very much from here on out. _That,_ he resolved, _was for the best._ _I can't help him anymore with the past. If he's still hurting from that, I suspect he'll always hurt. Especially with what happened a few months ago._ He sympathized with David, and believed his son was doing better than he did in similar circumstances.

He gulped down the rest of his black coffee when he heard the knock on his door. Ever the cautious soul, he picked up the M-1911 always kept at the ready. He strode over to the door. For once, his heavy boots did not make a sound. He looked through the security peephole and saw Rogue there. She had a winsome smile on her face. _Nick probably let them out early._ The calendar said it was Wednesday, and he had no reason to doubt that it was his Rogue.

Frank opened the door and let her in. She thanked him and sauntered in, as if she were familiar with the joint. She'd been briefed back at Fisk's penthouse suite that Rogue did work for S.W.O.R.D and that meant Nick Fury.

"We're going on our first mission Monday, so the old man gave us a long leave." It was then she saw him. A young, vibrant version of him.

A FEW HOURS AGO

Mystique did not think fondly of the so-called help. The 'help' had asked for access to her mind to get a 'feel' for Frank. She grumblingly obliged and, at least, he kept the contact brief. He then put on a device that she suspected was like a mini-Cerebro; the machine consisted of a small laptop-like component and a sophisticated helmet. She listened to him, dubiously, a he audibly sorted through the myriad mental voices. They remained motionless in the car until he was able to locate him and give her directions.

"He seems to have a resistance to telepathic tracking. I'll be able to find him, but he's harder to pin down than what a normal human should be." The telepath frowned. "It's almost as if he's being shielded by an external entity. Interesting. Go to the Bronx. He's there. I'll give you more precise directions when we get to the borough."

Eventually, though, the two of them came to a run-down building. She parked the car, a rental car checked out under an assumed name, and got out. She tried to get the man's name, but he refused to give it.

"You sure he's in it, Mr. Tele Path?" Raven asked. It seemed like a place he'd inhabit, but she remained hesitant.

He nodded as he came around the vehicle and took the driver's seat. "I'm positive."

PRESENT

Despite that assurance, she almost did not place faith in what the man said. Raven remembered him as an older, crustier, and meaner man. This man made her motor run excitedly, to put it mildly. Broad shoulders tapered down, accentuating a powerful body. Frank was muscular, Raven could see the well-developed muscles just under the fabric of his gray t-shirt. Probably a freak in the sheets. A slow, nearly warm smile crept across his face. She wondered if there were any way to get him out of those pants.

"Ah sure missed you, Frank."

"I missed your cooking, Lori." He said with gruff affection. She took note that it seemed to be an inside joke. His voice was the same; deep and gravelly. It WAS him.

She tested their closeness by entering his personal space, just close enough to feel his body heat and the intensity of his attention. He leaned over and gave her a passionate kiss, his arms enfolding and protecting her. When they broke off the kiss to come up for air, Raven/Rogue said, "Let's go to bed."

# # #

David arranged to have a nanny and housekeeper at the new house—he decided he'd need the assistance—one that came highly recommended amongst the Washington D.C elite. With his vastly increased salary, he could afford it. The woman, older and stout, was friendly and kind to Trent. Her name was Martha Wellington, and she complimented David on how polite Trent was to her.

"I tried to raise him right. He's a good boy." The family history had been gone over with her in detail before Martha accepted the job. "Just help me by getting him out of his shell. Don't let him read all day." They lived in D.C now. There were a million things to do and enjoy. Touring the Smithsonian museums would take a week at least and it'd be good for the all too serious Trent. Before he forgot, he pointed out Trent's various appointments for the month written in David's concise handwriting.

David hustled about the kitchen as he prepared for the first day on the job. Suitcase in hand, he kissed his son on his tousled brown head.

"Love you, Dad. Please don't get shot today." Trent piped up, brown eyes both loving and worried.

Martha and David exchanged a short look before David seized the lead. He always tried to both protect and be honest with his children. "Munchkin, I don't think that will happen, but I'll make a deal with you. I'll be extra cautious if you try not to worry so much."

Trent gave him a weary grin. "I'll try, Dad." He didn't quite have the facility or vocabulary to voice the deep seated concern that burned in his heart. He desperately feared losing his father, like his mother and siblings. He wished he could tell his father what he was afraid of.

David knew he had to deal with his own personal problems before they leaked out on Trent. He feared losing Kevin and Eleanor on a daily basis. Kevin was overseas on a secret mission and Eleanor had finished boot camp. It was her intent, someday, to enter the infantry officers course now that option was made available. But that would have to wait a few years as she gained rank and experience. "Trent, we're safe. I love you, but I have to head off to work now. I can't be late on my first day. Martha will take you to school when you finish breakfast."

"Ok, Dad." Trent watched his father leave and felt an outpouring of anxiety and love for him.

The first day on the job was grueling, but David flung himself into the role and decided the first order of business would be to clean house. Over a nice Greek lunch, he met with the Director of National Intelligence. His name was Sam Sheffield, who would be turning in any pertinent data the FBI discovered on terrorism to the President. Sam, a solid and dependable man if a little secretive, took an immediate liking to David.

"In this time of growing distrust of government officials, we need someone like you to improve our image." Sam considered the horrible story of his family. That made him more sympathetic, more accessible to the average American.

David had a few items on his agenda that he intended to check off right away. Fire corrupt federal agents, or in the case of Angelo Martin, offer a forced retirement. For obvious reasons, he did not want his real background to be known. Angelo had blackmail material on him and David knew it. Another task would be to create a nonbiased committee to investigate deaths that FBI agents were involved with, to make sure the deaths were justified. He informed Sam, hesitantly, of his plans. In the back of his mind, he wanted to create a branch of specialized agents that dealt specifically with crimes involving children. They would be deployed along with other agents to help deal with troublesome cases like his, for example.

"The goal is to give the public some faith in the FBI again. I don't feel it's ethical to have the FBI internal affairs investigate their own shootings." David said, earnestly.

"You've got a steel set of balls, Castiglione. "Sam admired that. It did take some fortitude to bring up the idea of an outside group of people reviewing FBI caused fatalities.

"We need to start fostering a better relationship with our fellow Americans, Sam. I also plan on having the agents wear body cameras to record their side of the story, should a bust go south." David sipped on some lemon water. "Tensions are rising and people are losing confidence in law enforcement. That's a very bad thing. We need to try and avoid that."

Sam nodded in agreement. David was right for a number of reasons. One, it would be harder to solve cases if distrust was rampant. Two, more shootings all around for everyone. Sam suspected that was the main reason David wanted the people to start trusting LEO more. Sam glanced at his watch. "We better get back to work. You have a lot to do."

In the end, David got partially what he wanted. A committee headed by experts in forensics and related fields to advise—and override the official decision only if needed—Internal affairs on FBI shootings. He still thought having a review by IA was unethical, but he did what he could. It would take a few months to select the committee.

Within the week of being the FBI director, he had Angelo Martin sit uncomfortably across from him. Angelo drove down from New York City just for this meeting. David maintained his calm demeanor and pushed an offer toward his former boss. "My offer is generous. You were planning to retire in a few years, so you might as well do it now."

"What about…" Martin asked.

"The other agents have already been informed that their services are no longer needed. They have been given severance packages. As for Agent DiMarco, I HAVE been able to prove corruption charges so he's in quite a bit of trouble." David said, simply. The big man leaned toward Angelo Martin. "Before you say a word, I know full well you could blab about my personal information, but you would have to answer many uncomfortable questions. My way is better, for both of us."

Martin decided that the new FBI Director was correct in this instance. Besides, he had plenty of money from Fisk. "It'll give me time with the wife. She's been nagging me to take an extended European vacation."

"That would be a wise choice." David said, a hint of chill in his voice. He watched as Martin signed the paperwork. He'd take the papers to administration himself, as he wanted to be certain they got there. Without so much as an adieu, Martin slinked off. Presumably, to cry in a hotel room over his lost career.

His assistant buzzed him on the phone. "Director Castiglione, there is someone here to talk to you. It's Director Fury. Want me to..hey! You can't go in there! Director, he's on his way." Her voice, irritated, became apologetic.

"It's ok. I'll handle him." David had been 'briefed' extensively on the unconventional ways and means of one Nicholas Fury.

Nick Fury walked in with the customary cigar in his mouth, possessing the bravado of a matador. "I've been hearing you've been stirring shit up. That's good, Director Castiglione. The FBI needed a good house cleaning." Fury wondered why the name change, but didn't ask. He'd find out later.

"You can call me David, if you'd like. We're not in a formal meeting." David gestured toward the recently vacated chair on the other side of his desk.

Nick grinned a feral grin that made David think of a wolf. "I hate formalities. Call me anything but sir." He lowered himself into the chair. "I hate wasting time, so I'll cut to the chase. I've just sent thirty men over to the Ukraine to do some recon on a suspected Hydra hideout."

David grimaced as he questioned why Hydra was still around. The mission was on foreign soil, so there was nothing that the FBI could legally do to help Fury. "Is this just a courtesy call to let me know what you're up to?"

"Yeah, and to inform you that I'll be passing along intel as appropriate. The latest I've heard on Hydra is that they're upping their game. They're selling drugs and women, which is something they've never done before. Maybe they're desperate for money." Nick said.

David rubbed the bridge of his nose with two fingers to ease an itch. "That's even more of a reason to put down Hydra for good."

"I suspect, David, they have operatives in America. My visit here isn't just to apprise you of the ongoing Hydra threat, it's to ask you to pass on any data you mine about the organization. We need to be sharing and compiling the news we glean so that we can perhaps put a permanent end to Hydra." Nick smoked his cigar casually.

David agreed, "I'll get to work on that."


	5. In the Fire

WARNING: If certain kinds of violence disturb you, best to avoid this chapter. Sexual assault will be implied, NOT described.

UKRAINE, 0400 military time.

 _'_ _At what point does a man turn into a monster? I don't believe that it's when he does horrible things, but when he accepts that he's able to do them, and that he does them well.'_ John Greenleaf Whittier.

The very frigid air blowing up from the open ramp of the helicopter threatened to turn everyone into ice statues. She could feel it on the tip of her nose and thought her appendage might freeze it off. She was glad she remembered her gloves. She shifted on her seat uncomfortably as the helicopter settled on the ground. Rogue fidgeted, there was an undercurrent of a vague tension, of an anticipation of violence that was tangible. She observed the faces of her compatriots. Some people seemed anxious, as if they were barely able to contain their energy. Others were possessed of deeper and darker thoughts, of wading into battle and blood. Some reflected about what brought them here.

 _Nick had been wise to compose most of the team with seasoned personnel._ Her team, however, was among the few new recruits assigned. Vincent, she noted, had not been allotted to this mission. He was employed elsewhere. She thanked the stars for that blessing.

There was little noise, except for the shuffling of feet and the random cough. Rogue assumed some of her fellow agents were remembering their families before the squad commander brought them back into the here and now. She reminisced about the quiet times with a certain someone, recalled the joy in mundane tasks that stilled the mind.

Just then, their commander barked at them. "Look lively, men. Get your gear and move out. Stick to your fireteams and you'll be given your assignments. The squad commander went only by the name of Schoonover. Someone asked him what his first name was and he just grunted. "Major. My first name is Major which is, coincidentally, my rank." After that, all of the agents got the drift and no longer asked him personal questions. But Rogue wondered. She knew Frank had a CO with that last name. Of course, that man would be long dead, but this guy could be a relative.

Rogue picked up her rucksack, rifle and began to head down the ramp when she heard the pilot yell, "Get the hell off the copter! A tank with anti-aircraft missiles is heading our way. Someone gave away our location." The helicopter, a huge one manned by a five-member crew, began to lift slightly as everyone poured out.

The young woman caught up to her team as everyone continued to hemorrhage from the copter. The squad commander told them to start running. "Run hard as fuck, you nuggets." He shouted at them. The large aircraft began to lift just as it was struck by a missile. The early morning was lit up by the explosion, everyone deafened by the cacophony. She watched as some of her squad was hit by metal debris from the now destroyed Super Stallion and she helped to drag them into the brush. From the foliage, she saw a rotor blade, heavy and massive, cut through four agents like they were blades of grass. Anguished screams turned to moans then silence.

Explosions went off in the distance, possibly grenades but Rogue was too busy trying to get a good grasp on the chaos going on around her. Her heart beat frantically and sweat rolled off her forehead. _It wasn't supposed to be like this. The mission's gone so far south._ Agents cried in fear and anger as they were shot.

A female medic asked for her assistance in getting the injured to some semblance of safety. Her tag had the name BANKS. Rogue gave a grunt of assent and went to work helping her fellow agents, blood bright against injured cheeks. She tried to ignore the cries of pain. The medic directed her to help with stabilizing the men. She shivered and helped the medic tend to those who stood a chance of survival. Those poor souls shredded by the blades were not able to be helped.

"Williams, get your ass ready for fighting." Schoonover curtly said. He appreciated her efforts in helping the team and would tell her later. But now, he needed her firepower.

She gave the medic a smile that said sorry, then said, "Yes, sir." She prepped her rifle, and laid flat on the ground. Rogue seemed to meld into the greenery, ready to fire at any enemy foolish enough to wander in her crosshairs. The others formed a line. She saw her teammates, Lowe and Del Toro, gird themselves for the fight.

The enemy was drawing near their position; the roar of the tank was accompanied by sharp gunshots. All hell broke loose at that point. S.W.O.R.D returned fire. Rogue located a soldier of HYDRA, quieted both body and mind then pulled the trigger. A loud crack from her rifle, then he flew to the ground, a fine mist of blood in the air. She lined up another man for a headshot, he went down too like a sack of potatoes.

Major Schoonover pulled out a radio from his backpack and began to call in for assistance. He heard nothing but static. He frowned and considered they could be using some kind of jammer. He'd need to back off some distance. "Williams, give me cover. I'm going to go up the hill and see if I can make contact. You stay here. They're disrupting our signal, somehow." He waved a couple of men to flank him. "I'm taking Marshall and Castelleno with me. If I get shot, one of them will make the call out."

Rogue obeyed his request instantly. After all, she was there to take orders and she'd like to get home. Making sure her CO was safe while he retreated a pace or two to call in reinforcements, would go a long way to fulfilling that goal. _Ah'm glad he's taking men with him._

She began her assault in earnest as the Major and his men slipped through the brush. Despite fear for his safety, she kept shooting at a fast pace. When she ran out of ammo in her magazine, she reloaded another one. It clicked home and she resumed her shooting. _These soldiers just keep popping up._ She grimaced as she saw a S.W.O.R.D agent cut down by the gunfire of a AK-47.

She took inventory of the killing field ahead of her. As of that instant, there were a few of their men on the ground, but more of HYDRA. She was alarmed by the fact more HYDRA soldiers were pouring in and she knew the number of their dead would grow if Schoonover failed in his vital task. Her face grew grim and she concentrated on killing another HYDRA fighter. The man's helmet flew off as her bullet found a new home in his skull.

Then absolute chilling silence. Rogue's body went numb, as if she were given a large shot of Novocain. A figure, made of glowing light, walked into the battlefield. Rogue could not make out if the person was male or female. "You will remain unmoving until I say you can move." The voice was irritatingly neutral, a little low to be a woman's but also a little high to belong to a man.

"Z, what should we do with them?" The man spoke English, but in a heavy Russian accent.

"Kill the wounded and most of the men. You'll need some for a video von Strucker wants you to make for Fury. If there are women, they need to stay relatively unharmed. They could bring in good money. Sedate them when they are put in the truck." The entity known simply as Z pointed at the bush where Rogue hid. "Make sure you grab her as well."

Two burly men grasped at her, hauling her up while Rogue listened to agents and comrades being slaughtered like lambs. Her blood ran cold and the thought of revenge to kept her warm. She winced as one of them, a bald man with hard steel gray eyes, cruelly grabbed her breast. "This American has nice tits." He then smacked her behind and laughed. "With a firm ass, too. Maybe I'll buy you for myself." The other man seemed to just want to deposit her in the transport they had brought.

The mere idea of being bought like some sex toy by this man—or anyone, really—made her want to vomit all over him. _If Ah could move, Ah'd tear his balls off by way of his throat._ As it was, she could not even threaten him. She wondered why everyone seemed to be under a spell of paralysis. _That Z must be a mutant, a telepath maybe? Certainly psionic in nature._ Z wandered off, presumably to scan for more S.W.O.R.D fighters.

The men dumped her in the truck, gave her a departing gift which was an injection of some dubious tranquilizing formula. She watched as they went and found her teammates. The bald man, who had a machete at his waist, smiled as he removed it. Rogue willed herself to move, she knew what was going to happen, but her body would not budge. She could only observe with horror as he stabbed her friends in the groin. He circled around them as they sobbed. The bald man then beheaded them, which did not happen immediately. The deed took a few strokes of the machete. Her tears fell down her cheeks as she watched their bodies involuntarily twitch.

"Vladimir, stop wasting time by playing around. Just shoot them in the head." That came from the other man who put her in the truck.

Her vision became blurry, as if the world itself were losing focus. _Vladimir must be the name of the…bald man. Ah…should remember….that._ And that was all Rogue thought before the chemicals pulled her under a toxic repose.

Schoonover and his men climbed to the top of a hill, and he made the call in. "This is an emergency. We need reinforcements and an emergency extraction. Someone told HYDRA we were coming. Yes, tell Director Fury immediately." He paused as Marshall gave the coordinates. "Write this down." Schoonover gave the coordinates and had the person read them back to him. "You got it. Go get Fury."

Then the call was over. A glowing androgynous figure floated like a balloon. Soldiers accompanied it.

"Holy fucksticks. Start shooting." Schoonover ordered as he raised his own assault rifle.

The figure cocked its head quizzically and the bullets hung in the air, as if time had magically stopped. The fired ammunition fell to the rock strewn ground, little clinks as metal hit mineral. The glowing person, with a gesture of his/her head, yanked the guns out of their hands. "Kill them," he/she said and the firearms turned on their owners, triggers pulled by unseen fingers.

Rogue woke up trembling but able to sit up. _Whatever it is they gave me is upsetting my stomach. Still, Ah have more important issues to worry about other than the status of my insides._ She felt afraid, of what would happen. The incident with Vladimir—appropriate name, she thought—both pissed her off and scared her. _Ah need to distract myself. Maybe Ah should focus on what's going on around me and not dwell on the what if's._

She noticed she had been divested of her clothing and given a short, semitransparent shift. No underwear or bra, which made her skin crawl. Especially when she didn't know who removed her clothing. Rogue took note of the cell she was in. One blanket, one waste bucket and a small window to let some light in. The barest hint of golden sun dared to intrude. The window was only three inches tall, so there was no hope for escape that way. Rogue examined the walls. The concrete forming her cell was solid and she could find no cracks in it.

She screamed and pummeled the walls, out of a sudden rage. She gave into that temptation, hoping against hope a miracle would happen. The rage went as quickly as it came, leaving Rogue exhausted but clearer of mind. Her hands, though, were bloodied and bore tiny yet painful scratches. _There's almost always a way out._ _Ah just gotta not let my surroundings get to me. Ah need to calm down and think. That's what Frank would tell me._ She took a pause, an uneasy memory of claustrophobia haunting the echo chambers of her psyche. _At least this cell is bigger than the one Ah was kept in back at the church._

Walking over to the blanket, she found it to be thick and she curled up it in. The blanket had a certain stale odor, but did not seem flea ridden and was relatively clean. She heard the howls of other people and forsaken cries. Instead of crying, she turned it into a burning resentment.

An undeterminable amount of time had passed. It could have been minutes. It could have been hours, but men finally unlocked the door to her prison cell. Five men, dressed up in SWAT gear, filed in. One of them smirked at her and she recognized that man as her old friend Vladimir. He touched the baton at his side, as a threat. _Go ahead, American, fight and I will beat you with my stick. I'd love to do it. Give me an excuse._ That's what she imagined him thinking and it was not far off the mark.

Rogue's eyes turned as cold as a Norwegian lake. She knew she didn't stand a chance in hell, but she had to fight. The fight was longer than expected, Rogue was nimble and the armored men were slower. She put one man in an arm lock and kicked him into his teammates.

"Cowards." She sneered as she elbowed the face of a man who dared to reach for her. Five men versus one woman. Cowards was the proper term. She didn't see the Taser aimed at her, but she uttered an "Ughghhhhh." as the tongs stuck in her flesh. Her body jerked and she toppled over onto the floor.

"This one has spirit." Vladimir licked his chops and he helped the other men restrain the immobilized woman. She mumbled a derogatory word or two under her breath but Vlad and the other four ignored her.

"She's not to be your plaything right now. The boss, Zemo, wants to interrogate her first, ass wipe. If there's anything left of her, I'm sure they'll sell her to you." Another man said with a dry and acidic tone to his voice.

A black hood was draped over Rogue's head, which did its purpose in disorienting her and keeping her submissive. She took the opportunity to attempt to calm herself. No good ever came out of panicking before a painful—or so she assumed—interrogation. They dragged her along the stone floor, her toes scraping along the surface.

"Dare to fight again and I won't be able to keep Vladimir off of you." A man whispered in her ear. "He's rough with women and goes through them on a regular basis. Those women aren't killed, but broken would be a good word to describe their mental state."

 _Why would this asshole care about what happens to me? He's working for fucking HYDRA._ Rogue thought, miserably. She lowered her head, as if accepting her fate, but all the while wondering how the hell she was going to get out of this. _Ah will. Ah know Ah will find a way. Ah'll free the others. Nick won't let us down. He'll rescue the other prisoners._

The men lifted her and slammed her down on a board, forcing her breath out of her with a "Uuufph." She, still blinded by the hood, could only feel it as her feet were being strapped together. She struggled and was rewarded with a hard punch to the head. That subdued her long enough to for the men to conclude their business. The men pulled back and Rogue sensed a certain darkness permeate the room, a certain lack of hope.

Baron Zemo looked at the helpless and tied-up woman. He observed that she had a fit body, appeared young enough to fetch good money. Of course, he didn't know if she were pretty or not, but that was of no concern to him. However, he did remove her cloth hood and noted that she had old-fashioned good looks. "She'll be popular on the market. That white lock in her hair is distinctive and she is not an ugly woman."

"Fuck off. Ah don't live my life to be considered attractive by the likes of you." Rogue dared to talk to him and almost instantly regretted it. After her vision adjusted to the lights, she saw an old medical cart with several very sharp instruments she did not know the names for, a gizmo that seemed like it could give someone a real shock, and a cruel looking riding crop. "You bastards have to resort to torturing people to get your jollies? All of y'all are weaklings, you're not real men." _Ah shouldn't be sassing these people, but Ah just can't help myself. Ah am so gonna regret it._

Baron Zemo laughed, amused by her show of audacity. He picked up a thin whip from the rickety cart. He walked around to her head, touched her face and noticed the bruise beginning to bloom like a sinister flower. "I think I'm going to like you. Or playing with you, that is." Baron Zemo cruised down to her feet, toes irritated by her trip to the torture room as the men drug her down the cement.

Rogue frowned, then her expression morphed to a death glare. "Ah ain't gonna tell you nothing."

"I don't need to know anything from you. This is simply for my amusement." Zemo grinned at her then raised the whip, which then descended on her feet.

She howled and fought against her constraints. "Fucking sadistic psychopath." Rogue hissed at him.

"Tell me something I don't know." He grinned at her. "But did you know this particular torture is called bastinado? It was developed either in the Middle or Far East a long time ago. I'm going to teach you a lot." He whacked her feet five more times, rendering her to angry tears and profane language.

# # #

Frank stared at the ceiling as he contemplated the woman sleeping next to him. Rogue came back different. He expected some change in her, but not this almost obscene willingness in bed. She seemed like a sex addict and that was not his Rogue. Her touch, gentle and sweet before, was now greedy and demanding. He did not care for it because that rampant wantonness was out of character for her. It left him feeling sleazy. They had sex when she came home, but after that, he found excuses not to partake of further experiences.

Then, there were other things off about her. She didn't remember the combination code for the armory. She almost 'forgot' where the bathroom was. She nearly burned dinner. That really made him observe her closely. His intuition was telling him something happened to Rogue. _Maybe it has to do with her powers, maybe having to do with all those personalities. Maybe her fear of losing herself is coming true. This Rogue's not my Rogue._ Frank finally decided. _I'm going to put the kibosh on this relationship until I figure what's up._

Then, THAT phone rang. The emergency phone with the special and distinctive ringtone. He rose from the bed, snapped his boxers in place and wandered out to the living area, where he stored the phone. Frank thought that maybe Nick needed Rogue sooner than expected.

Frank picked up the phone and answered with a brusque, "Start talking."

"This is Nick and I need your help." He filled Frank in on what he knew about the doomed mission. "We believe that Rogue has been taken by HYDRA as her body was not found on scene." Nick did not go into details about the mutilated people left behind like bits of trash.

Silence on Frank's end.

"Frank, you there?"

"I think I hear a rat rooting around in my bedroom. I'll call you back." He hung up the phone and put it on the counter. Frank's focus became intense. He concentrated on every sound, miniscule though it might be. His suspicions were confirmed and that woman in his bed was not Rogue. So who was it? _I killed Mystique. Although I wish I could kill her a few more times._ He padded back to the room with graceful stealth and retrieved a knife on the way to his room.

He slowly opened the door to find the bed empty and the window open. Nevertheless, he proceeded to clear the room then the rest of his makeshift apartment. Frank was left feeling stupid, which he hadn't felt in some time. _I need to get what's important and leave. I may not have much time._

He called Nick back as he pulled and zipped up his pants. He put the phone on speaker as he pulled on a dark blue shirt—a gift from Rogue—and made plans to vacate the premises as soon as possible. After dressing, he got his armory into his van. While Rogue was away for boot camp, he designed a storage unit that folded at the touch of a button. It held his guns, ammo and other important items for occasions such as this. It was also mounted on wheels for easy loading into his van. "How much trouble is she in?"

"I'd say she's in lots of trouble. HYDRA isn't the same organization it was when I was a pup. At best, she'll be treated as an enemy combatant. At worst, she'll be prepped for slavery." Nick was reluctant to say either rape or torture, but the threat of it was implied. "Someone sold us out and gave away their location. I'll figure out who the traitor is sooner or later, but I need to focus on saving as many of my people as I can. I owe them that much. You in, old man?"

There was no hesitation in Frank when he said, "Yes. Pick me up at Newark International Airport in about two hours. You can debrief me then. I have to bug out of my current location." Then he hung up again, never one to waste pleasantries.

He thought for a moment, then got a plastic bag. He examined the pillow 'Rogue' used until he found a few hairs. He used tweezers to wrangle the hair into the impromptu container. _I'll ask Nick if he'll have his forensic team run some DNA tests. I need to try whose hair this belonged to, since it most likely wasn't Rogue._

He loaded up the battle van and did a quick run through of the place. Rogue, like him, kept a bare minimum of personal belongings so he scooped up the two bags she left behind, politely and neatly packed. Frank asked her to keep her possessions contained just in case he needed to vacate. He tossed them alongside his rucksack and then proceeded to drive off.

# # #

Rogue lay battered and bruised on the chilly floor of her primitive accommodations, wrapped up in her blanket. Her shift was stained with blood and sweat. She wished she didn't recall so much of what had happened a short time ago. After Zemo finished with whipping her feet, he had used that instrument on other parts of her body, while she defiantly cursed and spit at him. He just laughed and struck her harder.

Her right eye was swollen shut and until the swelling went down, she knew she wouldn't see out of it. Her fingers gently appraised her face and found multiple lacerations, including a split lip and noticed she had bitten her tongue sometime during the sustained beating. She thought she might have a few loose teeth. _No wonder my mouth tastes of copper._ The only comfort she took was that she did not break.

The time dragged on forever in the seclusion of the dank cell. Driven to it out of boredom, she relived her waking nightmare of the church, of being entombed in quiet darkness only to be hauled out and forced to absorb memories and to kill people who did not deserve it. She remembered the cruel laughter as the Gnuccis hosed her down, then shoved her back in her box. She begged them not to put her back in and to show mercy. Rogue buried her head in the blanket and let the fabric wick away her tears.

Now, she could scarcely move an inch, her body ached from the abuse and she was drained of physical energy. In addition, the cold was making her body stiffen up. Moonlight trickled in through the window, a silver treasure that Rogue clung to out of desperation and a need to focus on anything other than her pain. Fear nibbled away at her, just out of mental reach, but still nagged at her. _Ah'll keep on fighting. It's the only thing Ah can do, other than give in which Ah ain't gonna do, but maybe Ah can find a smarter way._

Hunger flared up and Rogue wanted a bite of food. Even stale bread sounded great, but Zemo flat told her captors no food unless Rogue swore obedience to them. All she would be given was water and that was so she wouldn't die. One could live longer without food than water. _Ah don't want food enough to admit defeat._ Her mouth drew a thin hard line and she mustered her determination.

She curled up and tried to drift off to sleep, but the sounds of the jail prevented that sweet relief. A creak of metal hinges brought her to full awareness. Rogue lacked the strength to sit up, but her one good eye registered who the man in the doorway happened to be.

Vladimir. She panicked and scrambled to get to her feet to no success. Her weak and stiff legs trembled, gave out, and Rogue fell on her posterior. Two other men that she didn't recognize followed him and they kicked the door shut.

"Heh. American woman isn't so defiant now. We've been given special permission for a different kind of technique to break you." Vladimir seized her by the hair and attempted to fling her across the small cell. She struck his nose with the ball of her hand and listened to the satisfying crunch as she broke it. "You bitch! You little whore!"

Her victory was short lived as they surrounded her and beat her again. Fists landed in her stomach and face. Still, she did not beg for mercy and kept struggling even as one of the men began to choke her. Stars formed as she writhed for breath. Vladimir grinned with blood dripping down his face as he held up a knife. He pushed her shift up and carved a few letters into the lower part of her abdomen. "Slut. That's what you are."

Then, she knew no more as the world burst into oblivion.

Do you want to give your soul to God? Do you want to take your revenge on those who used you?

"Who are you?" Rogue asked, as she woke up. The men weren't there and she hurt worse than she ever recalling being hurt before. She appraised her situation again. Bruises everywhere she looked and her shift was hardening with blood. She knew that she had been assaulted and shame threatened to bring fresh tears to her eyes. Except that her face was too injured for her to cry. Her cheekbone throbbed with sharp pain and she suspected that the bone might be broken.

Just someone concerned about your wellbeing. You're in deep shit, you know.

Rogue figured it was a personality in her head talking to her. But it sure didn't feel like this conversation was from one of the personalities stored inside her mind. She hadn't had one of those since Frank touched her, which was odd now that she thought about it. "Ah know Ah am in deep shit."

Answer me. Do you want help or not?

"Ah try not to make bargains with voices in my head. That's a bad idea, in general." Rogue lay down. "But Ah do want vengeance, Ah do want to make Vladimir the Baldie pay. However, nothing is ever for free. Survival comes at a price, even Ah know this." Rogue knew she was nuts for talking to what seemingly looked like to herself, but she was coming to the conclusion the voice belonged to …well, she couldn't say to whom it belonged to. The Voice, as she dubbed it now, had the ring of reality to it. It sounded like a melodic and masculine voice, with a sarcastic undertone.

There will be a price, more like a choice, but you won't need to worry about that for a long, long time. You need to hurry because Vladimir is coming back. Alone.

Rogue thought for a moment and accepted. What harm could it do?

Kill him. End the evil here.

"That's the plan, once Ah find a weapon." She searched the room, again, but this time found a knife, apparently lost last night during the struggle. She clutched that as if it were made of gold. _This could be my ticket out of this hellhole._

She heard the growing noise of boots in the hallway as she readied herself for battle. A sense of déjà vu flashed over her as she leaned against the cold cement wall. _This is just like how Ah managed to save us from the church. There's meaning in this._ She smiled, a shard of discomfort shot through her entire face, as she heard the keys rattling at the door.

She grasped Vladimir and with a strength borne out of desperation and a deep thirst for revenge, threw him to the ground. Rogue jumped on him immediately, slit his throat with a savagery that satisfied her. "How does it feel to have something done to you that you don't want done? Asshole." She watched as the life oozed from him, then scavenged for weapons. A Glock, another knife, a candy bar that was slightly melted but she ate it anyway, chocolate goodness giving her a burst of energy.

She took off his pants and used her knife for a quick hem job. They were a little loose, but the warmth they provided offset that inconvenience. She yanked off the military shirt as well, cutting off the sleeves. _Better,_ she thought. _Ah'm glad to feel warmer._ Rogue finished with putting the belt on and holstering her new gun.

Better get going. Won't take long for someone to miss him.

She looked at the boots with some regret, but thought she could find better fitting ones soon. _Those will just trip me up._ Rogue then escaped the open cell and closed it behind her. She found herself in a narrow hall which was dimly lit and went right. _First things first, gotta get acquainted with the layout._

# # #

 ** _Parris Island_**

Frank, freshly apprised of the entire situation, leaned back and thought. "I'll help but I want to deal with the traitor myself. You find out who it is, I'll make him or her disappear from the face of the earth." He stretched in his chair and went over the information given to him. Twenty dead and butchered agents, ten missing and eight of those were women. Frank's gut told them those two men were not long for this world, if the condition the other men had been left in were any indication.

Nick replied. "Deal." It was for Nick's benefit as well because he could always play the plausible denial card if pressed for the whereabouts of the traitorous agent. No doubt there would be a trial if—no, when—the asshole was caught and Nick preferred to spare the American taxpayers the grotesque expense. And, he thought to himself, there were answers to questions he'd rather people not know about.

"When do we ship out?" Frank rose to his feet. Although odd to come back to the Marine training facility, it also felt like home. It had changed from when he was younger, of course. Larger buildings, especially the barracks, and he noted the recruits had better training equipment. The uniforms had been updated, he also observed with a critical eye. He did not particularly care for the digital woodland pattern, but then he was a former Marine and set in his antiquated ways.

"As soon as the plane is prepped and you put on some fatigues. You don't have to do that now, jarhead, you can do it on the plane. I need to have you at least look like an active duty Marine." There would be no questions if Frank donned the uniform. The tall ex-Marine could pass for current with nary a question from anyone. "You'll be given an M-16 and a secondary weapon. The plane ride will be about thirteen, fourteen hours. We'll have plenty of time to formulate a plan."

Frank asked, "Will there be others tagging along?"

"No. I don't want to endanger more S.W.O.R.D agents. It's just me and you." Nick neglected to mention that the various generals were very vocally averse to rescuing these people. They wanted Nick to give them up for dead, but had relented providing Nick go by himself rather than drag more soldiers into this clusterfuck.

A quick text let Fury know the plane was prepared. "Let's go bring them home, Frank."


	6. Carnival of Rust

Rogue crept along the hallway. There were other cells, but as she peeked inside, they had no occupants. That made her worry about her compatriots; either they had been killed or otherwise disposed of or they were currently being tortured. None of those very valid concerns appealed to her. _At least Ah have some keys, clothes, a gun and a knife. Things could be a lot worse._

 **Things could be a lot better.**

She ignored that—negative thoughts weren't productive—and concentrated instead on potential adversaries up ahead. She saw three doors, the left one lead to a cell, one straight in front of her, and the other to her right. Rogue thought the door in front might lead outside and to a whole frigging bunch of HYDRA. She chose the right door.

Two men were sleeping in chairs while supposedly minding the monitors. Rogue could almost hear Frank say in his gravelly baritone: _Never begrudge the stupidity of an enemy._ Rogue supposed that was Frank's quaint version of 'Don't look a gift horse in the mouth.' She pulled out her knife and put a quick end to them. Rogue didn't want to make noise and the tender quality of mercy had left her for a time. Rogue planned on killing every bastard in this place, to rain punishment on these animals.

She pulled off one man's pair of boots and found them to be of an adequate size. _Ah can't continue to go around shoeless, especially if Ah have to go outside._ She laced them up and studied the monitors, which let her examine and plan some sort of crazy plot. _Four towers with lookouts, walls and in the center of it, a collection of smallish buildings. There are patrols of three men wandering, Ah bet they'll come here sooner or later so Ah better hide the bodies._ She also saw the armory was in one of those towers. _Ah think Ah'm gonna use my knife to take out most of the men, but Ah'll take an AK-47 from one of those patrols._

She pondered what to do about the monitors, if someone happened to come in, they very well could spot her before she was ready. So she permanently disabled them before she continued on her path of justified vengeance.

Rogue managed to unlock the closest cell, drag the men's carcasses over to it, then shut the heavy metal door. She rested only for a moment as pain radiated from the center of her body. She risked a glance and found blood on the front of her pants, where Vladimir had cut into her flesh. _The zipper must be rubbing against the cuts, making them bleed._ She forced the tears away and told herself that she'd cry later, over all their dead bodies. With that, she slunk out of the detention center, and out into the wide open.

She shimmied up the nearest guard tower ladder, remaining as quiet as possible. She paused near the top until she was sure that the man had his back turned to her. The woman came up behind him and shivved him in the kidney until he dropped like a stone. She rolled him over and she recognized his face as one of the men from the night before. She recognized his scar on his cheek and his arrogant expression. She began to choke him and he frantically fought against her, his struggles grew less and she whispered in his ear, "Ah just want you to know Ah'm the woman you and your buddies raped last night. Ah killed Vladimir, now you. You won't be hurting anyone else again." It gave her satisfaction to watch the fear and recognition flare in his eyes. To her, it was important that he knew who killed him.

Rogue broke his neck to assure herself that he passed on. She made mental notes about what was in the tower. Mainly binoculars and a minigun mounted on a tripod, along with a few thousand rounds. That brightened her day considerably. _If Ah could just get everyone in the center, Ah'd easily pick them off. Ah'll need to take out the other towers, fast. They'll be noticing their friend is missing soon. Best get moving._

She slid down the ladder and observed her surroundings before taking off for her next objective. Barrels and boxes of what seemed to be military supplies, mortar shells, maybe some ammo. A patrol of three armed men approached, and she hid behind the barrels with her hand lightly resting on her handgun. She had a moment of apprehension. _Could Ah pop them before they returned fire?_ _Would they just wound me just so they'd be able to torture me again? Ah'll shoot myself in the head before Ah let that happen._ She hoped that they wouldn't see her so hastily hidden behind the fragile safety of some wooden barrels. They passed her without incident, which left her free to scurry to her next target.

This next target, however, saw her out of the corner of his eye as she attained the top. He tried to raise the alarm, but she flung her knife into his throat. The dark haired man, stumbled over the edge and he fell to the ground in a crumpled and lifeless heap. She winced then scouted the area from her perch to see if anyone noticed. The patrol did hear the noise, conferred amongst themselves, then headed to where the fallen man lay.

 _Ah can use this. When they get over here, Ah'll jump on them._ Risky move to be sure, but it was the best chance. She scooted down on the ladder and patiently waited until the three men were under her before she dropped on them. She listened to the snap of a man's neck before punching the throat of his nearest comrade. The third man drew down on her; Rogue kicked him in the shin before yanking the gun away. She had no choice but to shoot the men.

 _Change of plans. That'll draw the attention of everyone in the compound._ She snatched the spare magazines and the knife from the boot of one of her dead adversaries. She also seized their assault rifles. In a rush, she went back up the ladder. She took command of the minigun, and got a sentry in her sights. She pulled the trigger and he exploded in a flurry of red. She turned her attention to the last one and his head disappeared after a fifty caliber made contact.

The clamor, of course, drew the attention of all the soldiers in the base. _Well, Ah guess this is it. Do or die._ Masses of men poured out only to be met with the full fury of the minigun, unleashing hell on them. She grinned wildly as she watched the bullets turn every soldier into gory confetti. As an afterthought, she eliminated the supports for the eastern tower and it came crashing down on the heads of a few men. She observed one large splinter impale a man in the chest. She fed another belt into the minigun when the ammunition ran out.

 _Ah should keep one of them alive for interrogation._ She hoped Zemo would join the fray, so she could send him to the abyss of oblivion.

A few assholes tried to come up the ladder only to be welcomed with a bullet to the face. Rogue hunkered and turned around to administer her remedy for being a HYDRA soldier. "Nice try, comrade." She made sure of the kills before going back to the minigun. She shot the others who had the smart idea to take over the other guns in the remaining towers and killed them before they had the opportunity to fire.

Rogue stopped when she saw no more men on the ground before her. _Ah suspect there are men out there, they've just gotten smart. Ah'm gonna need to do this by foot now._ Peering over the edge of her tower, like the disgruntled and heavily armed damsel-not-in-distress that she was, she determined that there was no enemy in wait. Just to be sure, she scampered down. Her feet hit the ground lightly, and she got her rifle in position. _Take your time, clear every area._

A couple of men flinched and groaned in agony. She shot them just to make sure they weren't going to go for a hidden firearm. In reflex, one man with a baby face and ice colored eyes grabbed her right ankle and she stomped his head until it was the consistency of a smashed watermelon. The rest were dead.

She searched through the buildings with a fine toothed comb, one by one, and found several computers that were left unlocked, as if the users had been called away before they could secure them. A couple of clicks also told her they were connected to the internet, which meant she could try to get assistance when it was safe to do so. She went back to the potential, valuable data. Unable to read the documents on the screen, she scoured the room until she found a USB driver. Rogue could not understand the language as it appeared to be written in an Eastern European script. _Someone working for Nick will know it, though._ She saved the documents to the drive and put the device in her pocket.

She scoured the rest of the building but identified no people. Only silence, which was eerie in itself. Her life depended on her being thorough. She entered the armory and her senses became sharper. Her honed instinct told her that someone was here, waiting until she dropped her guard. A slash at her shoulder cut very lightly into her, and without thinking about it, she struck the assailant in what she prayed was his face with the butt of her rifle.

A muffled curse and she turned to see that it was indeed a HYDRA soldier, a young one. Someone to interview, as it were. With a quick trigger finger, she put some ammo in his kneecaps and he fell to the cement. He screamed with pain. She grabbed some duct tape that she found on a metal shelf—apparently they were in a utility room—and she bound him while he was more or less helpless, trapped in waves of distress.

"Ah don't have time to fuck around." She pulled out a knife and held it to his throat. "So Ah'll make this short: Ah need information. If you lie to me, Ah'll see to it that your suffering is legendary." The fleeting expression of panic in his eyes informed her that he understood English. But, to be sure, she asked him, "Do you understand me?"

He nodded, tears rolling down his face. She found no sympathy for him. "Do you know where Zemo is?"

"He left this morning with seven American women. Your friends, I think. He went to sell them in the Middle East somewhere. The two men were executed and the video was sent to Fury. I don't know when or if he's c-c-c-oming back." He said, stuttering. He spoke with a French accent and Rogue knew she heard him speak before. But where?

"Next question: What about the whatever it is named Z?" Rogue narrowed her eyes as she watched him begin to sweat. "Here's a gentle reminder if you piss me off by prevaricating, Ah can eviscerate without killing you right away." She drifted down to his abdomen with a wickedly sharp blade in hand. She hovered for a second before ever so slightly pressed the tip into his skin.

He was left with no doubt that she'd do as promised. "Z went to America. That's all I know. I swear!"

"Do you know of anything that HYDRA might be planning?" Rogue asked, as she used the tip of the knife to trace a pattern. She didn't slice into him, but it scared the hell out of the young man, who seemed to be approximately her age. The man was of low rank, she believed, but it never hurt to ask.

He shook his head, vigorous with fear. "No. I don't. I haven't been here long."

Rogue believed him and she remembered him laughing at her as Zemo beat the shit out of her, even helping with getting Zemo various instruments. Furious, she stuck her knife in him and coils of his internal secrets came tumbling out.

"Bel ange de la mort." He whispered before she shoved the knife home in his sternum. He bled out in a matter of moments, the arteries having been severed. It was never her intention to let him—or anyone else—live. She had zero regrets about anything she had done. These were bad people, some might call them simply criminals, that came to a suitable end.

 **Beautiful angel of death, eh?** **Interesting phrase. I like it. All you need is a set of wings.**

She sighed. It hurt her face to talk. "Ah don't know who you are. Ah don't know if you're just a fragment of my imagination or if Ah'm just going crazy. Possibly both." She found a place to sit and took a breather. She needed to figure out what to do next. _Ah need to go to the computer and communications room and try to get an extraction._

 **Ask your Frank. He'll know since we're old friends. I'm very, very real.**

She didn't like the smarminess of 'his'—the voice was certainly very masculine—acidic tone. She thought back to the promise she'd made. "What of this price you want me to pay? What will it be?" Just then, she realized she might have made a mistake. That is, if this voice was real.

 **I told you, the price will be a choice. And I assert that I am real, not one of your personalities.**

And, for a brief moment, Rogue had been given a sight that 'he' would presently make her forget. In fact, their entire conversation would be forgotten and left behind. A shimmering light with fierce eyes and a predator's smile. A protector, a warrior, an entity capable and willing of committing great destruction. Then, nothing. She remembered nothing of what she saw or even that they had a tête-à-tête. The world went black and she lost herself to that darkness.

BOOM! A loud explosion rocked the compound.

Mostly unaware of herself, she managed to stumble out from the building to the middle of the fortress's courtyard. Her drive to survive kicked in despite her growing exhaustion.

# # #

Frank Castle dreamed no dreams of Lisa or Maria. He hadn't for some time. Like ghosts, they must have finally moved on. If he thought of them, he could still conjure them up like some dread magician, but that dredged up his loss as well as the good memories. He wasn't one to believe in the supernatural, but he found it worth pondering that their memory would ease after being reunited with Frank Jr. _Maybe there are such things as 'spirits' in the sense those spirits were just fragments of my guilty conscience after my failure to protect them. Maybe since our son lived, it alleviated something in me._

He slipped into one of those rare bittersweet flashbacks, holding a three-year old Frank David—who gave him sloppy toddler kisses—as he stood in the living room of the house they resided in. He had just come home from what he was only allowed to call specialized training, so he was still dressed in battle fatigues. Lisa scampered around him and begged for attention by tugging at his pants leg. He smiled indulgently and kissed her on her golden head.

"Go play, Lisa. I'll read you a story tonight, I promise, but I've got to talk to your mother." Frank thought his daughter was the most beautiful thing he'd ever given the world and he saw the promise of a better future in those bright and loving blue eyes. He hoped his son would be strong and a man of integrity, to be better than Frank was.

Lisa stomped off, a pout on her face until she thought of her dolls, all lined up on the edge of her bed. Then she ran off to play with them. "You better read me my favorite story, Dad!" She said as she vanished into her bedroom, all girly and pink.

"What's wrong, Frank? You seem broody." Maria smiled up at him, and prayed her love would chase away those dark clouds in his deep azure eyes.

"I'm going to be deployed soon, Maria. I'll be here a few more months then I'm gone." He knew that his wife Maria was not thrilled with that decision, even less thrilled he had changed the family name to Castle. Though, she informed him later, Castle was much easier to spell.

She sighed and ran a hand through her immaculate hair, turning it into the delightful tousled mess that Frank preferred. "This better be the last tour, Frank. I'm not happy about you going again." She had that dare to fight me look in her face. Maria was normally a sweet woman, but when riled, she wrecked more havoc than a hurricane.

"I guarantee you this will be my last tour. But that's not everything I wanted to say. If anything happens to me while I'm on overseas, cash out the military insurance policy and get the hell out of New York City. Let the kids grow up in a decent place." He paused. "I need you to know that if I die in 'Nam, you should live your life. Be happy, Maria." The last thing he wanted Maria to do was wallow in mourning over him. He was not worth it and she deserved far better.

Her eyebrows raised, "Are you telling me, Captain Castle, that some accident will befall you? Come on, you're invincible. You're ten times tougher than even the second toughest Marine in the Corps." She nestled beside him and gazed at their child. "Nothing's going to happen to you, I know it. As your wife and therefore commanding officer, I'm ordering you to knock that talk off."

He laughed and enfolded her so that all three of them were together. Lisa, not having been content to stay in her room, peered out from behind a corner and clutched her Miss Priss doll tightly in hand. She was immediately determined to get in on the action. "Hey! I want in!"

After the children had been fed, bathed, read to and put to bed, the silence allowed Frank and Maria to enjoy some time to relax and reconnect with each other.

Maria gently pushed him on their bed and he asked between frantic kisses and caresses, "You sure this is what you want? What happens if you get pregnant and I'm away?" A staunch Catholic, Maria did not believe in birth control and he knew she desired to have about four or five children. But he was desperate for her, he missed and loved the radiant woman who teased him with her feather kisses and slow touches.

She smiled as she carefully straddled his hips and dipped low to kiss his neck. "Believe me, I want this Frank. Now let's get to it." Time lost meaning for the two of them.

When they finished with their lovemaking, they put their nightclothes on and fell asleep. It was about two a.m. when Frank's eyes popped open by the sound of little feet crossing the threshold of their bedroom. It did not take much to bring him to full awareness, due to the war, he had become hyper sensitive to noises. Maria remained quiet, under the shroud of sleep.

"Daddy? Will you get rid of the monsters under my bed for me? I'm…I mean Miss Priss is scared of them." Lisa's eyes were wide and frightened, and she needed reassurance. She held onto her doll for dear life. The hall light behind her lit up her golden hair like a halo.

Frank left the bed, scooped his daughter up, and left the room before he said solemnly. "It's my job to protect you from all monsters. I promise you that I always will. Let's go get them and I'll show you my patented monster removal techniques. But let's be quiet; we don't want to wake up your mother or brother."

The jolt of the plane brought him back out of that memory. Frank was glad for it. _Grief never goes away. It changes, it mutates. It finds new ways of sucker-punching you when you're least expecting it._ It felt that the plane was descending. It seemed that they were soon to be transferring over to the helicopter and then to go rescue what was left of the S.W.O.R.D mission team.

Nick, having taken the opportunity for a nap, stirred awake and strutted over to sit by Frank. "We know where the compound is, so here's the plan. We'll take the helicopter as close as we can. It'll be about a thirty-minute walk from the drop off point. You put C-4 on the entry point, we'll detonate it, then pick them off. We'll call in for an extraction after we secure the perimeter." The plane hit the tarmac with a shock that rattled their bones.

"Are we taking any personnel with us?"

"We'll approach and assault the compound by ourselves, but there will be a nurse on board to tend to the wounded. Gunners will be defending the copter." Nick stated. "I assured the generals I wouldn't bring any of them to a danger zone. But I can tell you every single S.W.O.R.D and S.H.I.E.L.D member are pissed. Pissed that I wouldn't let them tag along and about the snake in our midst. I'm going to have to make it up to them later."

Frank couldn't blame them for being pissed, their brothers and sisters in arms had been not only betrayed but slaughtered. And who knew what was happening to those still in captivity. He especially understood after having seen the video sent to Fury. Two men were savagely mutilated then beheaded. Women beat and whipped until they broke under the pressure. That was not a video for repeat viewing. Oddly enough, Rogue had not been on that video. It either meant she was dead—somehow he thought he'd know if she was—or she gave them hell. He'd place good money on the latter thought.

 _That'd be my girl. I hope you're still giving them hell._ She and the other women had been captives for about seventy-two hours, by Nick's reckoning. He tried to not think too hard or deep into that.

Nick was the first to jump out of the plane with Frank close behind. The helicopter, already prepped with personnel, lifted the second Frank got in. While in the helicopter, he was given a choice of loadouts. He chose the M16A1, an old and trusted stand-by, along with several magazines. He already had his secondary weapon at his side.

The nurse on board shot Frank a dirty glance. "Who is this guy? He's not S.W.O.R.D. How come he gets to go with you?"

"He's a tough bastard. That's all you need to concern yourself with, Agent Blanchett." Nick barked at her and she shut her mouth, clearly rebuked.

The two men stayed quiet; this was a time of gathering thoughts and wits, before the thrill of the fight would commence. For a helicopter ride, it went smooth. Frank had been through a lot rougher in the Hueys back in Vietnam. The stoic gunners remained at their mounted guns, prepared to defend the helicopter and its inhabitants tooth and nail.

"We're here, Frank." Nick informed Frank right before the helicopter lowered. The Director went up to the pilot and gave him instructions to pull back a few miles but remain ready for a speedy Med Evac if deemed necessary. "I'll radio in when it's time."

Both soldiers leapt from the vehicle and kept their heads lowered as they focused their attention on their objective. The machine gracefully lifted up and away, as the men disappeared into the brushes.

They were deep in the foliage, mindful of the terrain and surroundings, and made steady head way when the men heard the deadly sound of a minigun. Nick and Frank recognized that distinctive noise immediately and hit the ground while they determined where it originated.

"I'm betting it's coming from the HYDRA site, Nick. I'm going to approach the target and gather some intel." Frank slunk off, quiet as a shadow. Nick followed, unwilling to let Frank go at it alone. Frank belatedly wished he'd grabbed a ghillie suit.

Silence ruled as the experienced soldiers approached the location. Not even birdsong filled the air. It was eerie, death hung in the air.

"Whatever it was, it's over. I don't hear any fighting. Nothing at all." Nick frowned. "You feel like you want to go take out the main entrance? Or do you want to wait?

"I think it doesn't matter when we do it. Whatever it is we do, we'll still need to take care of the gate. It's bolted from the inside." Frank was thoughtful. They were close enough to hear sounds of ordinary life, let alone the various hoots and hollers of men after a successful battle. They still heard nothing. His first instinct was to tell Nick that perhaps there had been a breakout and that the S.W.O.R.D agents managed a coup, but he did not want to get his colleague's hope up. It very well could be a bloodbath in favor of HYDRA. The agents could have escaped then gunned down. So Frank kept his thoughts under wrap.

Frank walked up to the gate, removed the C-4 from his rucksack, applied the explosive at particularly vulnerable spots, then came back to where Nick waited. He squatted down before hitting the switch. The explosive devices worked wonderfully, and they were granted access to the HYDRA hideout.

Bodies. Everywhere there were bodies. All wore the HYDRA uniform. Judging by the holes in most of them, it appeared to be the work of the minigun. Frank noted with approval. One of them had his head crushed in.

"I'm glad someone took out these fuckers." Nick growled. Their attention was drawn to a slight figure that stumbled out of a nearby building, wearing clothes too large for her. A dirty white stripe in her hair made Frank's heart lighter. She spied them and hoisted up her assault rifle.

"I'll approach her." Frank said and Nick nodded. Depending on her state of mind, she might not recognize Nick, but Frank believed she'd know him.

Frank walked slowly with hands toward her. "Rogue, it's me. Nick and I are here to extract you and the others." He got a good look at her; she wore bloody pants, had bare and scratched up arms. Half of her face was purple and swollen, and that made him furious.

"There are no others. They've all been sold. Or murdered. Except for me." She gave a bitter grunt and lowered her weapon. _No. Ah was just beaten, whipped, starved, and raped._ Rogue wanted to go find more HYDRA and put bullets in them.

"Any hostiles?" Nick asked from behind Frank.

"Ah got them all. Ah killed them all. But it wouldn't hurt to be cautious, just in case." Rogue began to tremble. "Why am Ah shaking'?"

"You're coming down off the adrenaline, I'd imagine. And you're hungry." Food had not made its acquaintance with her in a few days, Frank guessed and he glowered. He helped her over to a large wooden crate and she smiled at him in thanks. He dug around in his rucksack again and brought out an MRE, a flameless heater, and his canteen of water. Before long, he had an MRE ready for her to eat.

Nick nodded at Frank. "You take care of Rogue. I'll scout around before I call in the helicopter." Then he was off, taking in all the destruction. Rogue needed an ear and a good hot meal. _She seems like she could pass out any minute now, if she doesn't get some supper. It's surprising she's on her feet._

Frank studied her face for a moment before mushing up the MRE. He handed her a bowl of food and she gratefully ate it. He sat next to her. She winced occasionally as she chomped a little harder than she should. "When you want to talk about what happened here, let me know."

She glanced up from her meal, and Frank noticed her eyes were red. Not red from crying, red from burst blood vessels caused from being choked. Bruises decorated her neck, and anger seethed in him. "Ah will talk about it, but not here. Ah just can't." She finished up her food and he gave her the canteen. She gulped it down greedily.

"You did good, Marine." He said.

"Even if Ah made some mistakes? Even if Ah couldn't save the other agents?" Rogue asked. She felt guilty for being the last one here. The men were killed and the women given up to a horrible fate, which she did not want to think about.

"You survived. You killed the enemy. You did good." Frank repeated and squeezed her leg.

She laid her good cheek on his arm; he was warm and safe and she needed his strength. Cold and weariness began to creep into her bones. "Ah just want out of here. Ah hope Nick hurries up." The two of them were quiet, both of them not wanting to talk, and Frank wrapped an arm around her to get her temperature up. Her shivering subsided as the food and warmth kicked in.

He thought of Valley Forge, littered with corpses both Vietnamese and American surrounding him. He recalled the expression of fear in the eyes of the soldiers that had come to collect the remnants of the men that remained at the firebase. Only he stayed alive. _I don't remember how I made it out. I should have died, burnt to a crisp. How did I survive? Why did I survive?_

Frank caught Nick approach them from the front. Wisely, Frank considered. Rogue's probably still got an itchy trigger finger.

The eye patch sporting soldier finished up with whom he was talking to on his hand held communication device and clicked it off. Nick glanced around, as if testing the air for possible danger. "I just contacted the pilot. We'll be out of here in five; I want to beat feet in case HYDRA sends reinforcements." He looked Rogue over with his one discerning eye. She'd obviously seen better days but Nick tactfully opted to not mention it.

The loud whirling sound of the helicopter blades heralded its approach. It set down just outside the gate and the trio easily climbed into the vehicle.

"Is this it? Is she the only one?" Agent Blanchett asked, aghast. The only person out of a team of thirty?

"Yep. And still worth getting. Pilot, get us the fuck outta here."


	7. War

Do you remember standing on a broken field  
White crippled wings beating the sky  
The harbingers of war with their nature revealed  
And our chances flowing by

If I can let the memory heal  
I will remember you with me on that field

-Poets of the Fall, War

Petty Officer Second Class Kevin Castiglioni instructed his S.W.O.R.D pupils on the basics of scouting and stalking specific targets. He and the rest of SEAL Team 4 were here to support S.W.O.R.D and give them additional—approved of course—training. They had heard of the HYDRA threat and were immediately deployed to Eastern Europe. When they learned of the ambush on S.W.O.R.D, the SEAL team wanted to go on a rampage but Nick forbade them with a steely look. Instead, they were to remain here.

Every soldier and agent on base knew that Nick went on a rescue mission, it seemed to be a poorly guarded secret. Everyone wanted to be a part of the mission. Kevin, having just experienced heavy combat in the Ukraine, sensed the barely controlled tension, an undercurrent of violence that would need to be vented. Kevin understood this. Fighting men needed to be used, needed to employ their training to do what was right. One did not keep soldiers on standby when they knew their brothers were in trouble. Not without good reason. Kevin suspected the bigwigs in the Pentagon had something to do with it and wondered.

He finished his detailed lecture and dismissed his class. The students filed out and Kevin went to the window. This base was in a desolate place where even the sun refused to shine and it seemed to be gray all of the time. Sea birds hung in the air like feathery, mournful ornaments. Like the Catholic man that he was, he thought: _Purgatory. We're all in purgatory._ He reminded himself that he needed to write a letter to his sister, congratulating her for her graduation to full-fledged Marine.

Kevin was the black sheep of the SEALs, although well regarded and seen as a SEAL with potential. His teammates knew they could depend on him. It was just that he had an old fashioned air about him; not that he felt that he was better than the other men, he just carried himself differently. He did not like to boast of his accomplishments. Although single and very eligible, he preferred not to have sex until he was in a committed relationship. Astonishingly enough, that drove many women off. That was his goal, actually. He wasn't averse to having sex before marriage, and probably would when the right woman came around, but this served to filter out the SEAL groupies from the women who wanted what he did which was a committed relationship, not a tawdry affair.

He was a quiet and modest person, whose sharp wit came out at surprising times. Like his father, he was religious as well, which earned him the nickname of Priest. Kevin didn't tell anyone this, he thought it best kept to himself, but he said a prayer for each person he killed. He was up to seventy-eight prayers now.

His commanding officer told him once, "Priest, with shooting like that, you're going to have all the bad guys praying to God."

"If I'm doing my job right, they won't have the opportunity to pray to God." Kevin said, simply.

His attention was drawn to the sight of the helicopter as it made gentle contact with the landing pad and watched as Nick emerged, along with a woman. She resembled a piece of dried up shit, to put it bluntly. He mused he noticed she had a white streak in her hair, like Nick did. A large man who he immediately recognized followed them. His eyebrow raised. _I see why he wouldn't let us tag along on his rescue mission. I wonder how he got Frank._ He watched, anticipating more agents from that failed assignment to pour out. None did. _Only that woman. That's really not good._

Kevin decided to go catch up with Nick and the rest of them before they disappeared in the complex.

# # #

Frank saw Kevin, dressed in his uniform, stride toward them. _Not what I wanted to deal with right now. It isn't going to take Fury long to piece things together. Maybe I should just give up and let him find out._

As if granting him divine permission, Nick waved him over. "Castiglioni, meet Rogue and …." He chose to let Frank introduce himself.

"Frank. We're acquainted. We've met through his father." Frank said, shortly. He wanted to get Rogue medical care. They tried to get her in a stretcher while in transit, but she did not have any of that nonsense. She fought them off with a fierce glare. She did not care to be poked and prodded, as Rogue put it. Certainly not in a whirlybird, she told them all firmly.

"Nice to meet ya, Castiglioni." Rogue replied and Kevin smiled at her warm and welcoming Southern accent. _The Castle genes were indeed strong_ , she thought and she wobbled a little bit. Silently, Frank picked her up and she did not object. She could not stop him and a look at his face told her that he'd had enough of her stubborn pride. _One wisely picked their battles with Frank. This is one Ah'll give to him._

Nick stayed quiet, though he looked at the two of them for a moment. He shrugged. It wasn't his business to know what was between Frank and Kevin and how they came to meet. _Yet_. Right now, it was more important to get Rogue some medical attention. "This way, Frank."

A short while later, after Frank deposited her in the examination room, Rogue sighed. Rogue wanted privacy while the medical staff checked her out and Frank understood.

"I know you may not want to do this, but we need you to remove your clothes so we can take care of you and document your injuries." Agent Blanchett tried to reassure Rogue, as she prepped all the necessary equipment for the exam. Rogue withdrew the USB drive from her pants pocket and kept it close to hand.

Rogue shoved off the boots, let the clothes drop and kicked them to the side. She closed her eyes and felt Blanchett's eyes on her myriad scratches, bruises and cuts. A soft, offended intake of breath betrayed Blanchett. _She must have seen the word carved on me. Ah swear if they can't make it disappear, Ah'll slice it off me._ Rogue listened to the soft clicking of a camera phone.

"Williams, we're going to clean you up after we do a rape kit. I'm afraid that I'll have to take pictures. But it might not feel comfortable while I'm doing the kit and I'm sorry for that." Blanchett sounded so sympathetic that Rogue wanted to choke her. Rogue imagined her hands around the nurse's neck as her head flailed wildly. She hated sympathy and pity; while ok in small doses, they were mostly useless emotions and wasted time. She just wanted to see HYDRA burn. Rogue winced but became as quiet as a stone while Blanchett ran swabs and documented the injuries to her anatomy.

While in the waiting area, Kevin caught up on the aftermath of the mission. Nick took a look at the young man and decided to trust him. Word was going to get out anyhow. "So that's what happened. She took care of them before we could."

"I'm impressed. SEALs have been known to die under similar circumstances." Kevin replied and scratched his jaw. He'd need to shave tomorrow. "What's your connection to her, Frank? Old war buddy?" Kevin thought this might not be the best time to call him Grandpa, especially since Frank—apparently—didn't want Nick in on the familial connection.

Frank grunted at his grandson, who just gave him an expression of feigned innocence. "We're dating, if you must know."

Agent Blanchett emerged from the medical facilities to apprise Nick and Frank about Rogue's condition and prognosis—with her patient's permission. At Blanchett's personal request, Kevin wandered off to go find a water fountain. He'd be back later. There was nothing on his agenda to do, and why not return to give the 'old' man some support.

"Well, she's not in bad shape considering what she's been through. She's been sexually assaulted, and someone was a sadist and carved the word slut into her stomach." Blanchett grimaced. "However, an MRI of her face has shown that she suffered a pretty bad facial fracture. The doctor says that she will require surgery. We're flying in an oral and maxillofacial surgeon just for her. I trust you don't object, Director Fury."

"I don't mind. How long do you think she'll be out of action?" Nick lit a cigar and smoked it. Frank just sat and thought.

"About three months. She's young and healthy; she'll heal fast. I also recommend a good psychologist; it's my professional opinion that she'll need some help dealing with the aftermath." Blanchett waited for a dismissal. She had to go about her rounds now and finish up her shift.

"You're dismissed, Blanchett. But before you go, is it ok for her to have visitors?"

"Yes, as long as you don't stay too long. She needs her rest. You can find her in room 101." Then Blanchett was off, to care for Rogue and other people on her watch.

"Castiglioni, eh? I've heard that name before. First time I heard it was in Iwo Jima. Met one Mario Castiglioni, he was a dependable Marine—not one to write home about, though. He had a few good moves but he was nowhere near the fighter his son ended up being." Nick continued to smoke his cigar, drawing in a deep breath and slowly letting it escape. "How are you related to Kevin and David?"

"David is Frank Jr. It's a long story. I'm not getting into it." Frank told him, keeping it quick and to the point. Nick believed him. Frank was not one to create fairy tales, especially about his son being alive.

"This will stay between you and me, Frank." Nick promised him. "Go talk to your old lady. I'll stay here until you're done. I'd like to have a discussion with her, too."

"Oh, before you go. I got the test results of that hair you gave me. It's definitely DNA from a shapeshifter. We can't confirm that it belongs to Mystique, since we don't have a known sample on hand." Nick said. It seemed Frank and Rogue had a blue cockroach problem infesting their lives. It might be time to fumigate, and Nick would help them if asked. Mystique was a potential threat to national security given the nature of her skill set and powers.

Frank went to the room assigned to her. He hated the sterile surroundings of a hospital and had been to hospitals far too many times for his taste. She lay in her bed and sipped ice water. "They said Ah can't have any more food until after the surgery tomorrow. So it's only water for me." Rogue seemed both frail and strong. The gleam in her eyes spoke of her determination to never let people get the better of her. Ever. He liked that about her. She had the quality of being bulletproof yet warm at the same time.

He picked up her hand and squeezed it. He would let her decide what she wanted to tell him. Whether it be small talk or a more serious conversation, he'd listen. Rogue must have seen that in his face and her resolve crumbled enough for Frank to see the pain she walled up.

"Tell me what you want to." Frank watched as she fully let down her guard, trusting that he was correct and knowing that he would protect her, that she did not have to be strong in this moment. The level of trust she had for him, he knew he had no right to have, but he had it nonetheless. The anguish washed over her and he felt it rise against him, a wave of daggers.

The story came out of her between bursts of crying and flares of pure wrath. He pieced it together and kissed her forehead. Frank felt her tremble with anger, not at him but at those who harmed her team and friends. "Ah'm going to kill every HYDRA Ah come across. It might take me the rest of my life, but Ah'll do it." She considered for a moment. "Though it's odd that Ah can't remember everything. It's almost like part of my memory's been redacted."

"After Valley Forge, there were parts that I forgot." He said to her. He tried to recall it now, but was left with blank holes in his memory. He chalked it up to the mind coping with the after effects of combat.

Frank thought about Mystique. He thought about whether or not to tell Rogue he slept with her. After a moment, he opted for the truth. If she found out, she would be furious at him. If he confided to her of his own volition, maybe she'd understand. _And if she doesn't, she'll leave me and be happy._ "I've got something to tell you…"

Rogue was quiet as a dead stone after he confessed. She seized a few excruciating minutes to think, she finally said, "You had sex with her under the presumption that she was me. Ah'm mad, but not at you. We thought she was dead; you had no way of knowing." Rogue felt surprisingly reasonable. She knew the man, knew him to his bones. He'd never willingly cheat on a partner. Cheating was offensive to him and against his nature. "Frank, this is just my opinion, but Ah don't think it'd be wise for you to go back to NYC anytime soon."

"I was thinking of becoming an independent contractor for Fury." He admitted. From what Rogue relayed to him and from the data gleaned from Nick, HYDRA was an immediate and very credible threat to innocent people—especially women and children. What worried Frank is that this whole situation felt like a distraction, as if the mission were to take Nick's focus away from what HYDRA was really up to. _That compound was under guarded. Zemo and Z mysteriously left on 'errands', just in time to avoid having their asses handed to them. I don't like this at all._

"That's a surprise." Rogue finished her water and futilely craved something to eat.

"HYDRA must have a trick up its sleeve. This mission was meant to distract Fury, I think. It stinks like a ten-day old corpse." Frank flatly stated. After seeing and hearing about what Rogue went through, he kept thinking about what if this happened to someone else's daughter or wife. He could not tolerate this and knew he had the prerequisite skill set to help stop HYDRA.

Rogue clenched her teeth despite the pain from her fractured bones. "God damn it. Ah believe you, but to have my friends killed for no good reason…"

"Welcome to war, Lori. Soldiers die for shitty reasons." Frank informed Rogue.

"Point taken." If she couldn't eat, then Rogue wanted to sleep. To be in a warm, clean bed seemed like a luxury to her now. A luxury she wanted to partake in.

"Before you get comfortable, Nick needs to talk with you. Probably wants to hear your story." Frank rose to his feet, whispered something that made her smile, then headed for the door. "I'll see you in the morning, before your surgery."

# # #

David sat down at his work desk the next morning and opened up his briefcase only to be assaulted with the crimes photos of that night in his apartment. They were in black and white, but that somehow only made the gore worse to him. He remembered that scene, saw it when he closed his eyes to sleep at night. Cameron, Emma and Morena. Dead. For no acceptable reason. Just avarice and stupidity. He tried not to recall how ruby red their blood was, or how still they lay amongst the revelry of the ill-fated Christmas party. Or the crunch of broken ceramic plates and ornaments under the stretcher as the paramedics hauled him away. He tried not to imagine his sister and mother lying amongst his family, joined with them in the permanence of death.

"Who the hell slipped these in my briefcase?" David's temper began to get the better of him before he inhaled deeply and collected himself. They weren't in the briefcase last night. He would have known it. That left home. Trent was the only person at home, since the nanny and housekeeper had to leave early. David was relatively sure the sweet woman would never put something so atrocious in his case.

He emailed an employee asking for tips to track online activity. He'd have to do some sleuthing when he got home. _I'll get Martha to take Trent out for dinner while I snoop on the computer._ He rang her up on his cellphone when he took a breather from his job and the welcome pressures it brought him. It turned out that Martha asked David if she could take Trent over to her house for dinner. She was going to have her grandchildren over and thought Trent might make a much needed friend. David consented, seeing that would give a chance for Trent to engage in social interactions.

 _It'll give me an opportunity to go through his room._ He hated to invade his son's privacy, but David needed to sort out what was going on with him. Trent was beginning to set off mild alarms in David and those could not be ignored, not for Trent's mental health or his either.

He left work two hours early, which meant he worked a regular day. After tossing his keys on the kitchen counter, he went to the family computer which was stationed in the living room. David firmly had said no to a computer in Trent's room, despite the boy pleading with his father. He brought up the internet browser, and after some real digging, pulled up the website that had the crime scene and autopsy photos.

 _Trent must have seen this shit. I tried to protect it from him and he still saw them, all of them desecrated._ He wondered why Trent put the pictures where David would be sure to find them. _Maybe it's his way of letting me know that he's seen what he shouldn't have. Maybe he's asking for help._ He cleared out the internet history and decided to forbid Trent the internet unless he was under direct supervision. He put up a password on the computer as an added measure.

 _Now to check out his room._ David, nervous at what he could find, wasn't too keen on searching his son's bedroom. But, he did. Methodically, he combed through the preternaturally clean room and finally found a box he was not familiar with. _He must have got this after we moved in._ David opened it to find a diorama of the apartment. Trent used cheap, naked knock off Barbie dolls to portray their family. Trent had applied a great deal of red nail polish to represent blood.

Nauseated, he set the disturbing display down on Trent's tidy bed. He shook, not knowing what to do other than call his son's psychiatrist. _I'll talk with Trent first. Then with Dr. Crocker._ This was not normal behavior. Sometimes doll mutilation indicated a deep psychological disturbance—and sometimes not with kids being kids—but in this instance, he suspected Trent was truly troubled.

He heard the door open and Martha announced her presence. "We're home, Mr. Castiglioni." There was an urgency in her voice, as if she desperately needed to have a chat with him. David sighed and wondered what it was about. Probably something to do with Trent.

Trent's footsteps made a light noise as he came to his bedroom door. "DAD! Why are you in my room?" He bore an expression of embarrassment, which deepened as he noticed the box.

"Before you ask, I've seen what was inside the box. And yes, I've found the pictures in my briefcase. I know you put them there. Don't bother to lie to me. After I talk with your nanny, you and I are going to have a serious discussion. You stay in this room, Trent." David had to work up to summon all his sternness to impress on Trent that he meant it. David was being eaten alive by worry and sorrow that his son would wind up being fucked up.

He went out to the living room, where Martha was wringing her hands. "Is everything all right, Martha? Did Trent misbehave?"

"Yes, your son misbehaved! He went after my cat when he thought no one was looking! He was going to choke or break my Missy's neck! He didn't manage to succeed only because my husband kept an eagle eye on him[RL1] ." Martha cried. "Something is wrong with him! You have to get him more help."

"I most certainly will." David promised and that was enough to make Martha relax. "I'll be calling his psychiatrist tonight."

Martha sighed. "I'm afraid that I need to quit. I don't feel safe watching him anymore."

"I understand. I'll cut you a check for the rest of the month and if you'd like, I'll write up a reference." David said, sad that he'd lose a good nanny, but respected her resignation.

"Just make out the check for a full week and the reference." She tried to reassure David. Her opinion of him was high. He did attempt to be there for his son and cared very much about him. "I'm sorry about Trent. You're a great father, but …he's been broken inside."

He scribbled out the check, though he gave her two weeks' pay, and said that he'd mail her the reference in a few days. "Trent's going to keep me occupied tonight." He said with hollow words. "Goodbye, Martha."

"Goodbye, Mr. Castiglioni." She hustled out of the house to go back home. Martha fought to keep from crying. David should not have to go through this pain. He lost so much and now might lose even more.

With the matter of the nanny taken care of, David turned his attention to his son. His nose caught the sharp aroma of smoke. He found the fire extinguisher and ran down the hall toward Trent's room. He saw Trent smiling at the burning diorama, as the flames started to spread to the bed before David hosed it down. The boy held a lighter—David had to wonder how he got his hands on that.

David was furious now and he had it with Trent's behavior. "Why did you do that, Trent? Do you realize you could have killed us both?" He yanked the lighter from his son's hand. "Where did you get this? I want to know right now." He loomed over Trent, but Trent did not seem very afraid of him.

Trent mumbled a quick lie about having found it on the street and brought it home.

David briefly examined the lighter. "You're lying, Trent. You're not good at it." David pointed at the very crisp looking price tag, clinging to the bottom. It was generally a very bad idea to lie to an FBI agent. "If this had been on the ground, the tag would show signs of exposure to the elements. Also, the body of the lighter would have scratches on it. So try again, Trent. This time tell me the truth!"

"I stole it, Dad. I stole it from a grocery store. I stole the dolls and the nail polish. Not all at once, over time. I stole candy and soda from other places too." Trent was as cool as a cucumber. If he was upset in the slightest, it would solely be due to being caught red-handed.

David just asked, "Why? I gave you an allowance? You didn't need to steal this crap." _Something is terribly wrong with my boy._ Fear for him almost brought David to his knees. _I don't want to lose another child. I don't want to lose Trent._

"I just felt like it, Dad. Can I be alone in my room now?"

"No. Get out to the living room. I'm going to call Dr. Crocker." David replied. "These actions of yours are not tolerable, Trent. Now march your butt to the sofa. No TV. I'll be out in a moment."

He pulled his cellphone out of his pocket and called one Dr. Phineas Crocker. He hated calling him past eight in the evening but it was important. Dr. Crocker picked up on the fourth ring. David's foot tapped impatiently on the floor. He saw the half melted Barbies and how much more gruesome the diorama was with the warped limbs and heat twisted smiles of the dolls.

"David Castiglioni, is that you? What happened? Is Trent alright?" The voice came from a tired man who had probably been busy all day conducting sessions with his clients.

"Trent's not alright. His problems run deeper than we thought." David debriefed him about the photos, the butchered dolls, the attempted assault on the nanny's cat, the stealing, and how Trent started the fire.

Dr. Crocker let a deep sigh. "His behavior is …. devolving. He requires more intensive care than you or I can give him. He needs to be placed in residential care, for his benefit and yours. I know a good one inside D.C, you'll be able to visit whenever you want. But, David, for your safety, you need to admit him tonight." It went unsaid between them, but Trent was showing some signs of anti-personality disorder. As a psychiatrist, it would not be right to diagnose a child with that. The diagnosis was saved for people over the age of eighteen. The reason being that children, with proper therapy and support, could grow up to be functional human beings. Most of the time.

It cut him to the quick to say, "Ok, it needs to be done for his well-being." David knew his responsibilities as a parent weren't limited to keeping his kid safe from the world. It was also keeping the world safe from his child.

"Get his medical records and some clothes together and I'll call the Amber Glen Institute. We'll help him, David. You're doing the best you can." Dr. Crocker said before they hung up.

David went out to the living room to find Trent sitting on the couch, per his instructions. "Trent, we need to talk. What you're doing is not normal and your doctor and I agree you need a different kind of care. Tonight, I'm going to admit you to an inpatient facility. I don't want to do this but I am very worried about you."

"No! You can't do that! I'll be good. I'll be goooooood!" Trent screamed and hit the couch in anger. He kept on screaming until his face turned red. When he received no reaction except a fatherly glare, he stopped, snot running down his face.

David grabbed a Kleenex and wiped his son's face. "I love you, Trent. This decision hurts me a lot but part of being a dad means you have to make hard choices. I have to do this to get you healthy."

Trent glared at him, then cried. David wrapped his arms around Trent and kissed his head.

What David didn't know was that Trent got a kitchen knife while his father was talking with Dr. Crocker. Trent had caught snippets of the discussion and didn't like it one iota. So he went and got a sharp steak knife, secreting it on the inside of his shirt sleeve. Now, he wondered what it would be like to stab someone. The knife slid out and Trent sank the blade into his shoulder. It felt like stabbing a pillow. Trent enjoyed it and was going to do it some more. He yanked out the knife and stabbed him again.

David yelled as the blade entered his shoulder again. He seized Trent and put him in the nearest bathroom, one with no window for escape. Blood poured down his back as he called 911, gave his name and address. He leaned against the door, knowing that Trent was capable of anything. Trent scraped at the door with the knife.

"I'm going to kill you, Dad! You were supposed to love me! Not give me up." Trent howled with anger.

That was how the police found them. David bloodied and slumped against the door and Trent yelling threats of murder and destruction. The two cops could hardly believe their ears. They helped contain Trent, one of them got a scratch to the face for his efforts, but they managed. They called an ambulance for David and formulated a plan to handle Trent. There was a mental health facility at the hospital that would hold him until further arrangements could be made.

David just stared at the ceiling of the ambulance as he was hauled away. Trent was in the police vehicle, being taken to the same place. _My own son stabbed me. What is he? What happened? What did I do wrong?_ He craved to talk to his own father, maybe get some advice. Then the ambulance stopped and he was carted off to the emergency room.


	8. Bad Company

**Author's note: I noticed an error that I had to go fix. Any way, thanks for reading.**

Mystique sighed as she relayed the new information to her fellow clones, or sisters as she preferred to call them. "So that's where I was for a few days. Entertaining one Francis David Castiglioni Sr. Believe me, a fun time was had by me, at least. I don't think he was all that into it, but who cares about that. I certainly don't." She looked around to observe if Fisk was in ear shot. He was not. Apparently, Fisk was busy consolidating business and helping von Strucker firm up plans.

"Why would you want to have sex with that decrepit old Vietnam vet?" Nightshade asked as she wrinkled her nose. She drank some expensive French wine while Fatale just face palmed herself. Neither one approved of her decision. If Wilson Fisk caught wind of it, and that man had uncanny ways of finding out secrets, it could mean the end of their stay in the penthouse.

"Because he was hot. I don't know what happened to him, maybe he volunteered for a Super Soldier program, but he looked like he was in his mid-twenties. Tall, broad and very delicious. With tons of stamina." Mystique grinned. She loved taking things from her foster daughter, or otherwise spoiling them so that Rogue would no longer want them. She hoped that Rogue would dump his ass if or when she discovered the truth.

"Get your mind out of his pants, Mystique, we need to do a job. Today, as a matter of fact. We were waiting on it until you got back—and you're lucky you showed up when you did. It was hard coming up with excuses as to why you weren't here. Wilson wants you to shoot Matt Murdock. As Frank Castle." Nightshade said with some exasperation. "We have everything prepared. All we have to do is go out to the courthouse and wait for Matt to come out.

"I guess it'll have to be old Frank. I doubt people would recognize the new and approved sexy Frank." Mystique pondered for a moment. "Why does Wilson want Matt shot?"

"He uncovered a secret: Matt is actually the vigilante known as Daredevil. He's been sitting on that intriguing bit of information for a while." Fatale piped in before Nightshade could have an opportunity to speak. "So, Wilson has said he wants him shot. It doesn't necessarily have to be lethal, just wants Murdock hurt enough to get Castle in trouble. While he would like to have Castle with his hands full dealing with law enforcement, he doesn't want to turn Mr. Murdock into a martyr either."

"Ok, so why did you have to wait for me?" Mystique queried. "You're both shapeshifters as well. One of you could blow Daredevil away."

"Because _someone_ is determined to keep tabs on you. This particular friend does not trust you anymore, if he ever did. He requested us to make sure YOU were the trigger man." Fatale whispered and Nightshade nodded in confirmation. "So I would straighten up and fly right, if I were in your shoes."

 _I could do that, but I'd rather stage my own coup. Wilson is starting to outlive his usefulness. I wonder if I can strike my own deal with Strucker or his underlings._ She mused while twirling a strand of red hair. The other two knew what must be floating around her sociopathic head. Mystique was always scheming, always underhanded. They would support her, of course, but she still aggravated them on occasion.

"Mystique, we've got to set up our little ambush. We know approximately when he leaves the courthouse, and we'd like to arrive early so we can prepare. You can grab the spare handgun that's in the Lexus. Remember to not kill him, if possible."

Mystique shrugged as she lifted herself to her feet. "If he dies, I'll just say my finger slipped. I mean, I'll try not to kill him, but it's hard to tell what bullets will do to a body." Which was true enough. Bullets could bounce around inside a person and become very destructive to arteries, organs or other essential body parts.

The courthouse was abuzz with activity, like some hyperactive ant colony. Lawyers scurried about like homeless rats, clients hung their heads low while anticipating their doom, and pigeons deposited their leavings on otherwise dignified statues. The three ladies observed the daily grind of where justice was supposedly dispensed. Mystique hung off to the side, 'disguised' as an ordinary woman with a nice business suit and ordinary looks. _Being attractive just gets you noticed. Best to be a plain Jane in this instance._ Mystique primly perched on a stone bench as she awaited Matt Murdock to leave the courthouse. Eventually, he did, but with someone else in tow.

She, a graceful and skilled killer, began to stalk him like a cat. Every one of her instincts were attuned to him. Her heart beat stayed steady as she enjoyed the hunt. When it was time, her body shimmered and settled into the form of the older and meaner crime fighter. She immediately felt a surge of aggressiveness, she supposed it was due to the sudden burst of testosterone. One of the more interesting facts about her was that when she was male, everything was that of a man. Including hormones.

She took a few moments and watched her target and the man who appeared to be on intimate terms with Matt. The two of them seemed like they were lost in thought. The sandy haired man had tears in his eyes and he grasped Matt's shoulder. "I'm sorry about fighting with you, Matt. Let's just start over."

"I'd like that, Foggy. How about we go for a beer at Josie's after work? Maybe play some pool." Matt grinned at his friend, thankful to have made up with him. Matt couldn't remember now what they fought about; he guessed that it wasn't that important in the long run. Matt assumed that it was his fault, he knew he was too stubborn for his own good.

"That'd be great. I'd be happy to beat your ass at pool again." Foggy stared behind his friend's back as a man approached the two of them. He immediately recognized the large and intimidating figure. Frank was not a person Foggy, who was very non-violent, particularly cared for. "Oh fuck. Frank Castle is here, Matt."

Matt turned around, senses on alert. "Frank? Is that you?" He cocked his head, to search for Frank's heartbeat. He recognized the rhythm of that heart, but that did not belong to Frank. He knew who **she** was, under the camouflage of his fierce nemesis and almost friend. Matt, the man who knew no fear for himself, feared for the safety of his friend. "Foggy, get the hell out of here!"

Mystique/Frank laughed at him. Foggy had a mental image which featured him defecating his pants. Even he thought that there was something off about this Frank. Frank was a bastard by most accounts, but what Foggy saw in those glacier eyes froze him up. A predator stared back at him like Foggy was a tasty morsel. He never got that feeling from Frank Castle before.

"I've had enough of your shit, Dare—I mean, Matt. This city is mine to protect." She/he pulled out a Glock and shot Matt in the side to Foggy's horrified realization. Matt cried out and stumbled against the pillar of the courthouse, blood soaking through his expensive silk suit. He touched the wet spot and it came away with red liquid. Not that he could see it, but he felt the slipperiness of his life on his fingertips. "Fuck, Foggy." He fell over, face smashed into the cement. His rose colored glasses tumbled from his face and shattered next to him. People, who saw the incident, either ran away or began to take pictures.

Then 'Frank' gifted Foggy with a bullet to his arm. Foggy screamed when the bullet tore into him. The defense lawyer ignored Frank as he walked away; Matt was more important than some murderous ass hat. Foggy Nelson went to his friend and rolled him over. Matt was still alive but barely conscious. "Someone stop taking pictures and call for an ambulance! He's been fucking SHOT!" Foggy hurriedly shrugged out of his jacket and ripped off a sleeve to tie around his own arm, a poor tourniquet to be sure, but better than nothing. The rest of the garment was pressed on Matt's injury.

Matt's bloodied hand clutched his best friend's silk tie. Matt was pale, too pale for Foggy's liking. "Not… Frank." Matt gasped as ambulances wailed in the background. "It wasn't…Frank who shot me. Mystique…" His grasp loosened as Matt slipped into unconsciousness.

"Matt, c'mon. Wake up, man. You gotta open your eyes, gotta stay with me." Foggy said, tears forming in his eyes. He didn't even notice his own blood, which streamed from his arm in crimson rivulets, staining the cement. _I always thought the fool would be shot running around as Daredevil, but not as himself. I trust Matt when he said it wasn't Mr. Kill-o-Rama, but everyone saw 'Frank' do it._

Two medics, one male and one female, came tearing up the stairs. The man spoke with Foggy and he muttered something incomprehensible. Foggy was gently advised to take a deep breath to calm himself. "Yes! He has a gunshot. Take him to the damn hospital already! He'll die if you don't." Foggy refused to settle down when his friend could die. _We'd just made peace. Please don't die Matt. You can't. You're a superhero._

He wandered about aimlessly, the blood loss made him woozy. It was getting harder for him to think straight. People were taking pictures of him and he didn't have the anger to protest. No one tried to help him.

Matt was transferred onto to a stretcher, not aware of anything the two trained medical personnel were doing to him. They shoved the stretcher into the ambulance and the lady glanced back at Foggy to see that his arm was bloody. She waved him over and told him to get in with his friend. She shoved him down next to his friend and made sure he was going to be alright until they arrived at the hospital.

It was Matt that was their primary concern. Franklin Nelson shared their worry. He watched as they made efforts to stabilize him. "Is he going to be ok?"

"Hard to tell, but we're working on it." The male paramedic readied some equipment as his female counterpart cut open his shirt to expose the wound which spurted blood. Still no response from Matt Murdock. His limp body looked so vulnerable and Foggy felt helpless. The sight of that blood coming from his friend made Foggy sick, he managed to find a paper sack. He vomited quietly into it. Then the vehicle spun and he felt the world fade away.

Mystique grinned with satisfaction as she shifted into yet another form, which was that of a little girl. Her size made it easy for the assassin to vanish. _That was fun. Very fun. I forget how much I missed doing a simple shooting._ Time to meet up with her sisters.

# # #

Baron von Strucker and Wilson Fisk held a conference while awaiting the news that Mystique succeeded in her mission. They kept their plans off the internet and did not communicate over cell phones. Mostly because of the FBI. When they could not meet, then the Baron used his telepaths to send messages.

Once there was confirmation of Murdock's attempted—or successful—assassination, von Strucker would give the order for part two of the plan. With the superior arms supplied by von Strucker, the gangs of New York would descend on the police precincts and wipe them out. Von Strucker knew that it would stir up a whole hornet's nest. And it wasn't just the police HYDRA was after, the military needed to be stunned. As of this moment, about one hundred thousand men were ready to attack a certain Marine station at a mere word.

"I sent out the word to the lesser known and hungry gangs that they'd earn credit with me if they did this." These gangs were also very expendable and Wilson would not mourn their loss. Why spend the lives of his own valuable men when he could use up the lives of the street rabble instead? Chances were, most of them would find their lives ended by the blessing of a gun. Either through rival gangs, police or even the Punisher.

Both of them knew that the crackdown would be immediate. But it wasn't enough to simply bring down the police and military. Civilians had to be involved. He had sleeper cells scattered in cities like Chicago, Seattle, Washington D.C and Los Angeles. All von Strucker had to do was have his assistant Z send out the 'call'. The objective was simple: to get the American people riled up, work them up into a frenzied state of mind. Perhaps they would even call out for martial law, as if their fractured government could protect them. It wouldn't be hard.

People were so easy to manipulate and Americans nowadays were pretty much gentled, as if they were as a collective whole, castrated. Long gone were the men like George Patton—well, except for the exception Nick Fury—only to be replaced with sensitive wallflowers that cry, "What about the less fortunate?"

Baron von Strucker had an answer for that question: Work camps. If they couldn't work, then a round to the brain pan would. The weak, the infirm, the drug addled welfare refugees, all would stop being a tax on society. One way or the other.

 _But_ , he thought, _I digress._ He continued to mull over the next phase, which involved negotiated help from his Russian 'friends'. Alaska and its oil reserves were the price for that assistance. Von Strucker had also been warned of the dangers of betraying Russia in blistering terms. Phase three, codenamed Fall of Heroes, would go into play and a new leader would arise. The ascendance of HYDRA as a nation, given birth through the death of America, would be a reality.

Z entered Baron von Strucker's mind, then, with word of the attempted slaying. "My informant told me that Matt is alive but in very serious condition. Doctors are monitoring him closely in ICU. Law enforcement officials are calling for Castle's head on a stick." Z was an abbreviation for Zamira and when she didn't have herself telepathically disguised, she was an astonishingly pretty woman whose dark and exotic good looks stopped just short of being beautiful.

Zamira, born in India's slums, had been sold to von Strucker when it became apparently that she was something special. Von Strucker saved her from a life of sexual slavery and Zamira had a grateful heart for it. He respected her for her tremendous gifts—which were on the level of psychic luminaries such as Jean Grey and Professor Xavier—and he made sure she received training for them. In return, she worked for him with unquestioning loyalty. In time, they became lovers and even married.

On a whim born out of boredom, she kept up on her family. She didn't care for them, since they sold her off like a piece of meat at market, but Zamira was plagued by a sense of family obligation. The last tidbit Zamira heard about her family was that her mother, who was really too old to be trying for another child, died while giving birth. She decided to stop following them after that. Their lives were too depressing and she had a great life of wealth.

Baron von Strucker gave a mental smile toward his new wife, the Baroness Z. He sent a thought to her, gentle as a breeze. "Zamira, let loose the dogs of war."

"As you wish." Zamira's lovely black eyes clouded over with a white film. She then disconnected their mental link so she could concentrate on her target. Camp Lejeune.

# # #

The flight back to the States was subdued. Rogue spent most of the flight sleeping off the anesthesia. As soon as the landing wheels hit the tarmac, Nick and Rogue would be whisked off to a special congressional meeting where she would testify in front of congressmen and the Directors of both the NSA and FBI. Nick warned her to be brutally honest about what happened and she agreed. Testifying wasn't what she wanted, but he had impressed upon her the urgency of it.

Frank talked to Nick Fury. "I don't like this, Nick. What happened doesn't sit right with me." Frank said, as he drank his coffee. Nick handed him some intel about HYDRA and Frank read it. It gave him background on von Strucker and Zemo, but there was nothing in the files that indicated the identity of this Z person. While in flight, Nick had agreed to Frank's request to be an independent contractor. The two men would work together as equals, and Frank had complete autonomy in the missions he chose to undertake. Frank also made it a point to stress he chose who to work with—if he chose anyone at all—and Nick conceded to him.

"I know. I was trying to draw HYDRA out. That's why I sent my men on that mission." Nick experienced something like regret, but had no time for it so he shrugged it off. Regret messed up thinking and made people second guess themselves. "But instead it was a fucking ambush. Frank, HYDRA's been quiet for some time. I think they've found another way to communicate. We haven't found any trace of them on the internet. They've gotten smart."

Frank grumbled, "Then I'd bet that they're either communicating face to face or telepathically. Given the nature of what happened to Rogue, I'd wager they have at least one telepath. Probably more."

Kevin sauntered up from the back of the plane after having finished the book, Art of War. He went over to check on the sleeping Rogue, who seemed alright for having major surgery. He was on loan to Nick Fury from the SEALs, and Nick considered outright stealing him. Nick was now in need of more S.W.O.R.D members and, having gained access to his service record, Kevin possessed superior fighting skills. Kevin also had a certified IQ of about 140 and his officers were specifically grooming him to eventually attain the rank Master Chief. As an attractive plus to 'recruiting' Kevin, Nick wouldn't need to run the young man through S.W.O.R.D boot camp, as he'd already been thoroughly trained.

The plane descended rapidly and Kevin took a seat, strapping himself in.

"I want the both of you to accompany me to the congressional meeting. Kevin, you need the full report so you can give it to your CO." It was Nick's intention to fire up the SEALs, which would be easy enough to do. They were, he reflected, a highly motivated bunch of soldiers. He added, "Frank, because Rogue will need a friend for support."

"She's a tough woman. She doesn't need a hand holding." But they both knew he'd be there. "Who's going to attend?"

"All of the highest ranking military personnel, select congressmen and the directors of the FBI and NSA." Nick said, with a look to the both of them. "Kevin, I'm sure we can work something out for you to see your father."

"I'd like that very much." Kevin spoke, remembering when he called his father. He sounded troubled during the Skype call, but he wouldn't say what was bothering him. This time, Kevin vowed he'd get a confession out of his father.

"Better go get Rogue ready, Frank. Make sure she's in a clean uniform." Nick suggested as Frank went over to her and gently touched her arm. She muttered a half playful curse and Frank laughed. Kevin observed them with great curiosity. Kevin wasn't sure what he thought about the two of them, but that laugh was good to hear.

Her entire body felt so sore, it was almost like she had been left in a running laundry machine, that she had a hard time moving. Frank noticed this and thought a good soak in a hot bath would help to loosen up her battered joints and tendons. She hated to admit this, but she'd need help getting into that attire. "Frank," she hissed as her face ached and throbbed. The pain medication was wearing off. She could take more, but didn't want to risk being all loopy while giving her story and answering questions. "Ah need some help getting my lil old self presentable for Congress. Would you mind helping me shimmy into my clothes? Ah don't like imposing but Ah really need the assistance."

"Let's go to the back of the plane." There, they had a semblance of privacy. Enough so that Kevin and Nick, gentlemen that they were, would not be glancing back. Frank placed himself between them and Rogue, while she struggled out of her sweatpants and tank top. Bruises marred her skin with violent purple marks and his eyes strayed over the flat of her stomach where she had been cut.

His hand reached out to touch her and she only smiled. Her smile shone with so much trust that it almost kicked him in the teeth. "Aren't you afraid of being hurt?" He would have thought that she'd be afraid to have someone get close to her.

"From you? Never."

His eyes narrowed and he said the next words with a grim yet paradoxically loving tone, "My wife and daughter tore the heart out of me, their deaths damn near killed me. They didn't mean to hurt me, they sure as shit didn't want to, but they did." He paused before he warned Rogue. "With the kind of life we're living, one of us is going to outlive the other. If I get killed, that will wound you." _It'd more than wound her; it'd cause catastrophic destruction._ Frank could not say how he knew that, it was an instinctive knowledge that came from deep inside.

"Ah'll cross that bridge when Ah come to it. But you're worth whatever pain is in store for me. Ah know that you'll never intentionally cause harm to me." Rogue said, resolutely. They kissed briefly and he touched her good cheek.

"That I vow." He told her. "You better finish getting dressed." Frank had to help her pull it up and drag it over her shoulders. It took a moment but Frank managed to zip up the formal uniform while she fiddled with white straps here and there.

 _Family._ Frank contemplated. _Rogue needs a family. Maybe I could bring her into mine. I don't think David or Kevin would mind, they'd welcome her._ To clarify, he was not thinking of marriage—not at this stage of the game—but more of an informal acceptance into the Castle fold. _If something should happen to me, they'll take care of her._ _David, at least, will make sure she's not alone._

There was Will Arsenault, but he was dubious about the man. While Lori was away, he went through some 'channels' that he had down South. What he found about Rogue's half-brother puzzled him. Will wasn't JUST the manager and bouncer of a burlesque club; he had a reputation somewhere between that of an assassin and a Templar Knight. It troubled Frank that Will neglected to mention that to Rogue, and it'd bear special investigation when Frank managed to find the time.

He turned his attention back to finish helping his girlfriend get dressed. Dress blues, they were called, like the Marines formal apparel. She brushed her hair out and the both of them finished up with the various insignias that announced her rank and standing within the organization. _At least Ah don't have a lot of rank to display._ A white beret completed the outfit.

"It's not tailored to me, but it fits well enough to get by. My set of formals is at the base. Ah wasn't anticipating needing it." Lori's lips pursed together tightly. _Ah shouldn't need them now._

Frank scrutinized her with a discerning eye. He was surprised how easily the Marine Captain came back to him; he recalled the days of inspecting his troops before the CO's came for an impromptu visit to the base. Lori was right. She did look presentable, though the arms were a shade too long. That made the Captain in him admit to slight disapproval, but there was nothing to be done about it now. She would pass for the meeting.

"We'll be landing in a few minutes, so plant your asses in a seat. I don't want either of you two lovebirds falling on your faces." Nick grinned at the two of them.

# # #

The chamber was full of older, anxious faces who waited for her to tell her story. She cleared her throat nervously, stood up to the podium, then began to relay every iota of information she remembered. She told them what happened to her comrades and her eyes managed to find David. He smiled at her reassuringly, but he had dark circles under his careworn eyes. She wondered if he took a road trip through hell.

Kevin and Frank flanked Nick Fury, one man seated on either side. He told the security detail. that they were his aides and their presence was most necessary. Both Castles kept silent and let Fury get them in. They realized they were admitted only because of Nick Joseph Fury.

 _He is haunted; Ah know that expression. Ah've seen it on Frank every now and then, when he thinks Ah'm not looking. Wonder what's wrong._ She'd make Frank say something to him if she had to. _David needs him._

One of the congressmen spoke up, "This is why we shouldn't allow women in combat situations. Things like **this** happen to them."

She asked Nick if she could speak and who the congressman happened to be. Rogue wanted to maintain some semblance of politeness.

"You can. His name is Clarence Dannen and he's a Republican." Nick informed her. He leaned back and wished that he had filled up his flask of whiskey. He would have loved to take a deep swig while Rogue skewered the congressman. The gleam in Rogue's eyes betrayed her anger over his remark.

Rogue turned to face the congressman, "Mr. Dannen, with all due respect, Ah have to disagree. My male teammates were castrated and decapitated in front of me. If Ah were to employ your logic, then men should not be allowed in war either. Ah assure you, congressman, that women are fully capable of holding their own. Not all of us are hot house flowers."

"I'm not saying you are, but…" Clarence Dannen objected.

"Ah shed blood for my country. Have you?" Her question pecked at him like the beak of a bird of prey. He muttered a 'No', then was quiet.

The rest of the emergency meeting went smoothly. After they questioned her, she was permitted to go sit down. Nick rose to his feet and presented his findings to the committee. A few hours later, everyone was dismissed. As they filed out, David made his way to them before they could escape into the wilds of Washington D.C.

Kevin grinned and hugged his father with great enthusiasm. He hesitated after he saw the haggardness of his father's face. Frank speculated what that was about, too.

"Mind if I borrow the three of them for a minute? It's regarding a family matter." David asked, including Rogue in the family without Frank needing to ask. He wanted to tell them about Trent before they had a chance to find out about it from another source.

Some intrepid news reporter named Karen Page had been curious about the incident. After all, not every FBI Director was stabbed in his home. Out of fear that someone might possibly go traipsing around his own history, David gave her the barest minimum of information and invoked his parental right to not say anything more than his son was receiving the best care. Karen Page felt sorry for him and said that she understood. She kept the article to the point and respectful of David and his son.

"Sure, but I'm going to need them before too long." That was Nick's way of saying: Keep it brief, kid.

David pulled them into a private conference room and shut the heavy oak door behind him. "I think you should know that I had to commit Trent to a residential mental health facility because, among other things, he stabbed me twice with a kitchen knife." He relayed the rest of the story.

Frank's stomach fell to his feet, appalled with the actions of a child. Eight years old and attacking his father? That was a poor omen for Trent's eventual fate. If he ever caught wind of Trent killing someone once he hit eighteen, he'd take matters into his own hands. _Trent stabbed his father. What special breed of asshole is he going to become?_ While Trent was young and malleable, experience told him that many people capable of harming someone who loved them so much never could overcome anti-social behavior. They just got better at putting on a mask of normalcy until another 'trigger' event disrupted their lives.

Frank said nothing. He had no words of wisdom or comfort to hand out. The only thing he could dispense were bullets. The Punisher knew what Trent would become and it wasn't pretty. But he had a father's pain for what David must be going through and he clasped his son on the shoulder.

Kevin, deeply pained, embraced his father. "I'm sorry you had to do that. You did what was best for him, Dad." He let go of his father and David gave a "Thanks."

Rogue, who considered herself an outsider, just watched David for a moment. _Small surprise that he's so beat up._ She rubbed his arm reassuringly, and he grinned in thanks. "Ah'm sorry too. It's not much of a consolation, Ah'm aware, but it's all Ah can give." _They have a closeness, a real tie to each other, Ah want that. Sure, Ah have Will but he's got his own life in Louisiana._

"Don't worry, it's enough. You're a member of our family." David noted her expression of intense longing on her beaten face. He interpreted it as the desire to be part of them and was rewarded by her grin. "Though why you'd want to be part of the Castiglioni clan…it's a hazardous situation at best."

"Eh. Ah'll manage." Rogue was about to say more when Nick popped his head in. There were shouts in the background and Nick barked at Kevin and Frank. "Camp Lejeune's under attack. Marines are being massacred. Kevin and Frank, we're leaving right now. Rogue, stay here with my colleague. Guard him. You're still in no shape to go out and fight." All of the SEALs were being picked up and put on one of his helicarriers. His friend, the Navy SEAL Rear Admiral George Matthews, asked him to organize and keep the men safe until they could go after the bastards.

"Camp Lejeune? That's where Eleanor's been stationed." David blanched. She had been recently assigned to the 26th Marine Expeditionary Unit as a rifleman. After the House had passed the edict that women could be put on the front line, that was the place she wanted to be. Especially since she had passed all the physical requirements to be assigned as infantry. Why Eleanor continued to run head long into danger, confounded David.

Both grandfather and grandson were out the door before Rogue had the opportunity to argue with Nick. She was astounded to see such large men move so quickly. _Ah ain't in any shape to go after the bad guys. Still sore, for one thing._ But at least she had something to do.

They were quite for several moments as David shoved his feelings aside and used his rational thoughts to keep hope alive. _Eleanor's tough. She's smart. She'll be ok._ "I'll try not to worry about her, Rogue. She's a Castle."

"It'll work out, David." She said, feeling lame for not thinking of a wiser bit of succor to dole out, but her sassy eloquence had run out for the day.

It was then David and Rogue heard the explosion.


	9. Wrong Side of Heaven

Camp Lejeune

Eleanor went about her daily tasks at Camp Lejeune which consisted of chores some people—now Marines—used to think were beneath them. They were quickly disabused of that notion in boot camp. She did not complain; cleaning and setting things to rights needed to be done. She gained the rank of Private First Class, due to her graduating Recruit Training with honors, but hoped she would get another promotion when she earned it. Lance Corporal Eleanor Castiglioni had a pleasant sound to it.

Her daily routine entailed physical exercise, training in hand-to-hand, marksmanship, then cleaning the barracks or kitchen. Today, it happened to be the barracks. The days were long and tedious, but she had the occasional day off to go see a movie in town, or hang out with her Marines in the recreation hall and play pool. She made friends easily and she was looked to as a leader for her level head and refusal to be upset by trivial issues. This had not gone unnoticed by her superiors. Leadership was a trait cherished by the Marine Corps, along with loyalty and level-headedness. Qualities she had in abundance.

It was not widely known that her father was the FBI Director. She wanted to feel like her earned everything she got—which her recruiter assured that she would. No nepotism or favoritism were allowed in the Corps. Eleanor also kept her family history to herself, except for only that recruiter. He had heard of the incident, discussed it briefly, then moved on. She would not be supplying her tragedy for casual consumption. She made the conscious decision to be honest, if someone asked, but it was not a conversation that she would be discussing with just anyone.

She liked this life. Strict as it was, the simple physical activity brought relief to her. Part of her craved the structure and the Marine culture, which was a real brotherhood. Yes, boot camp was difficult. It had to be to forge people who could go out and live in hardship while defeating the enemy.

"Private First Class Castiglioni, are you done with mopping?" Her commanding officer, Staff Sergeant John Bascom, regarded her sternly. He thought Eleanor had a lot of potential and he was going to be hard on her to develop all that latent ability.

"Yes sir." She responded as he inspected the floor, without wandering all over it.

"Good job, Marine. Now I'd like you to…" The unmistakable sounds of gunfire and anguished cries filled the air. "Form on me, Castiglioni." He rushed to the front of the barracks and squatted down. She did the same, but she took the opposite window. He peered up carefully and saw as a veritable army of soldiers suddenly came into view. They fired upon anyone that moved. He motioned the 'OK' for her to look as well.

She noticed their uniforms. Not Russian. Not North Korean. They almost resembled Nazi uniforms and she said as such. "But they're different from those, too."

"Castiglioni, those men are HYDRA." The Staff Sergeant knew they didn't have time or the luxury to wring their hands. Action was required. Action was necessary. "We need to get to the Armory because I think that's where they are headed. We need to arm ourselves at any rate. We can collect other Marines on the way." Bascom ordered. "But we're going to have to take it carefully."

She nodded as he assumed the lead. The Armory was about a half mile from here, and they would have to be as stealthy as possible. She stopped when he gestured, hiding in shadows when possible. She pressed herself deeper in the shadow. Bullets bit into buildings and a few even lodged close to her as if to say, ' _Hey, remember me? I nearly took out your entire family! Ha ha_!' She watched with detached interest as a hole was instantly made right in front of her, a little puff of dust from the punctured cement hung in the air. They hunkered down closer to the ground and waited until the squad of soldiers passed. Her heart pounded like a herd of rhinos in her ears.

"Let's hustle." They shuffled along at a steady pace and heard torment as their fellow Marines were gunned down as they went about their business. They found a man, slumped, against a wall. His sweaty brow glued his ebony hair to his head and his eyes were tightly closed, as if trying to shut off the pain. She went and touched his arm, a slight and kind gesture. She failed to recognize him, but then this was a large base with many Marines stationed here. However, being a Marine like her, he was still a brother. The very young man, younger than Eleanor, stirred and held his arm, which appeared to have been shot. He moaned with pain and his brown eyes were as dull as mud.

"Can you walk?" Eleanor whispered. The tag on his fatigues read: HOWE.

He grinned at her, a welcome sight to his eyes. "Yeah, I was pretending to be dead so those assholes would leave me alone." He shoved himself onto his feet and followed the other two. Howe pressed his hand onto his wound, hoping that the blood wouldn't create a trail.

A few words from the Staff Sergeant told them to remain quiet. He motioned toward a dumpster and they all hid behind it, their boots made a slight scuffling sound. A platoon of about fifty men were in front of them, they made jokes as they went about their mercy mission. The streets were littered by their people shot and crying for help—the platoon's task was to put a 'merciful' end to them. Eleanor wished she had her hands on an assault rifle. _I'd like to mow them all down._

When the platoon of HYDRA soldiers passed the trio, Bascom said, "We're not far now, so try not to get jumpy. We've got to be slow and steady." He kept his voice reassuring and that made the other two believe they could make it. They walked in a straight line, Bascom in lead, Howe in the middle and Eleanor bringing up the rear.

Ever so sluggishly, they approached the building. Dead bodies lay about, most of them belonged to HYDRA but there were Marines alongside them. There did not seem to be anyone living around. Eleanor winced, pained at the thought of dead Marines. _They deserved better. Their poor families…_. A flash of a scope caught Bascom's attention.

He waved up toward a figure on the roof and they were awarded by the sight of five other Marines on the rooftop. They all had rifles, one man took the sniper position and was flanked by four other armed with M-16's. "C'mon over. We've got your six. Sampson, go unlock the door." One of them disappeared as they rushed the twenty or so feet.

"Thank you." Eleanor said as she shut and locked the door behind her. She had never been so glad to be inside a building in her life.

Sampson shrugged. "No big deal. You guys want a rifle in your hands?" The normal situation would entail a commanding officer signing weapons out, but this was an extreme situation that, frankly, had left them no time for that protocol. He noticed Howe bleeding and scowled. "You take off your shirt. You're damned lucky that I'm a medic."

Howe did as the medic ordered, while Eleanor and her CO clambered on top off the roof with the others. The plan was, as the other Marines said, to wait for reinforcements to arrive. "We don't know the exact size of the enemy troops, but they were enough to decimate our ranks. Our commanding officer put out a request for help before he….before he was KIA."

The other Marines introduced themselves as PFC Kemper, Lance Corporal Murdoch, PFC Harper, and Captain Ennis. The men were from the same battalion, the 2nd Reconnaissance, and eating lunch when the attack happened.

Captain Ennis spoke up, "We were in the mess hall when those soldiers just popped up out of nowhere. It was odd. Literally, they just came from nowhere." He shook his head. Ennis did not understand that at all. "Chaos is the only word with which I can describe what occurred." Ennis relayed a brief story of how they saw others get hit by the gunfire and how they managed to get out the door before someone with smarts decided to toss in a grenade. The men ran as they heard the grenade explode. They decided, much like Bascom and Eleanor, that the Armory seemed the safest place. At very least, the Marines could arm up.

Eleanor summoned the courage to speak to the higher-ranking Marine. "Captain, I'd like to see if I could find more of ours—or anyone in need, really—out there. We have to do something other than hole up here." She thought of the civilians working on the base that might desperately need a few good Marines to get them out of a dangerous situation.

Hawk-eyed and severe looking, his hair blessed by silver—he liked to joke he got them from the recruits under his command. Known as a stern but fair Captain who was a good judge of character, Ennis gazed at the blonde woman and tried to ascertain how serious she was. He did not want to let a yahoo Private loose to make mayhem out of a desire for revenge. That would only get her killed and he had quite enough of his brothers and sisters dying. He decided she was both serious and right about the situation. In good conscious, he would not be able to rest on his laurels while people who could be helped, were being massacred. "You need to take someone with you, Private Castiglioni. I don't want you going alone."

"I'll go along." Lance Corporal Murdoch said, his voice deep and melodious, like a cello playing a Mozart concerto. She glanced his way and he gave her a friendly nod. "She's right. People are dying and we have to try to save them."

"Ok. Grab helmets and vests then go scout for survivors. Take secondary weapons and maybe a first aid kit. Don't be out for more than an hour." Captain Ennis stated. "The rest of you take positions on the roof. Howe, when you're patched up, bring up ammo and other supplies as needed. If necessary, we can provide them with some cover."

Eleanor and the Lance Corporal accepted the directions of the Captain, and they went to wear the armor was stored. They strapped themselves into their vests, plunked helmets on their heads and then the two of them stepped back out into the base.

# # #

Kevin brooded while in flight to the helicarrier. Normally, he was not the type to engage in a fruitless activity such as wallowing in unproductive thought but this was an extenuating circumstance. He worried about his sister; his little warrior sister. He loved her, though as a big brother, he was always reluctant to tell her. He wished he could say those words to her now. When they were growing up, they had some terrific verbal sparring, he LOVED to provoke her to heights of verbosity not seen since Shakespeare. It always made him smile.

"So, kid, since you asked me about Rogue…" Frank sat near him. It was time to needle his grandson back. He felt more at ease around Kevin than David. Maybe it was because they were both military and had that strong bond, or maybe it was because of painful memories David summoned. _I keep seeing my failures as a husband and protector when I look at David. It's not his fault and I should not punish him for it. But I still feel that way._ It would be worked on. David did not deserve to be treated like a bad memory, to be brushed aside.

"If you're asking whether I'm dating…currently I'm single. There's a woman back at base that I am interested in but I don't know if I'll see her again." Kevin said. There was a comfortable silence that indicated to Kevin that old Grumpy Bear would be willing to listen if Kevin wanted to talk.

"To be frank with you," Kevin said while Frank kept his cool at the obnoxious pun, "I'm worried about Dad and Eleanor. Eleanor, because she's on the front lines of a battle. Barely trained and immediately tossed into combat. That pisses me off. Dad is a different concern but related to the first one. I'm thinking that if something happens to Eleanor, he just might put the barrel of his service gun in his mouth. You know he's lost a lot. Perhaps too much, if she gets killed."

Frank considered his grandson's words. "Rogue will keep an eye on him, I'm sure. She's got a good heart, underneath her tough exterior, and she's strong. Trust me, if he becomes too maudlin, she'll kick his ass back into line. As for Eleanor, she's like any other grunt, tossed into battle and she'll either sink or swim."

Kevin said, "That's not very reassuring." The talk relieved some of the pressure from worrying about his father, but he worried even more about his sister. What Frank said was true. She'd either survive or not, but he could put those thoughts aside for later. He hadn't even contemplated the conundrum of Trent yet. He had no doubt their father had to put him in a residential care facility, but was it that bad? Could Trent be salvaged and saved from what would be a horrible life?

The young SEAL spoke up again; they had some time to kill before they reached their destination. "I just want to tell you a story about Eleanor. Cameron kept on imagining monsters under his bed when he was eight. I guess he was an anxious kid and that was how his anxiety manifested. Anyhow, Dad couldn't help him. Neither could Mom. But Eleanor told him that monsters were there to make him stronger and to not be afraid of them. Her tactic worked. He even got more confident when he realized he could make the 'monsters' go away."

"We're approaching the helicarrier. Get equipped before Nick bitches you out." Frank grumbled.

Kevin belatedly observed that Frank was already prepared. _It won't take me long._ He grabbed a rucksack full of provisions that Nick supplied just as the helicopter touched down on the enormous aircraft. _I'll be able to arm myself when I reach the rest of the SEALs._

The three men jumped out of the vehicle and onto the helicarrier to see about 2800 SEALs all in black, all with white skulls painted on the vests. They were arming themselves and checking their loadouts. Kevin's team wasn't here yet, but they were on their way, Nick told them.

"I can get you both in on a team. Do you want to work together or separately?" Nick asked.

"Together." Frank said, his attention drawn to the others who had picked up his cause. _So many of them admire the notion of vengeance._ He did not care for it, having visible proof that his message caught on with the military, like an insidious fungus. _No one should endeavor to be like me, least of all them._

"Ok, the both of you will be attached to SEAL team 2. Go get your gear and get dressed." Nick ordered. "I need to go help the higher ups organize the other branches for an attack."

The commander of SEAL team 2 welcomed Kevin and Frank to his unit. He looked Frank up and down and decided he would do just fine. "What branch did you serve in before you went to work for Fury?"

"Marines. 3rd Battalion. Also, certified as a sniper." He neglected to mention he trained with the SEALs—he qualified to be one though he stuck with the Corps—and he went through the U.S Army Airborne School. Very, very few people could obtain the dockets to do either of those things in addition to his Marine training and it would make the commander very curious.

The commander liked the cut of his jib. "The Thundering Third, eh? Well, we'll make use of your talents." He gave them the "Punisher" uniform, vests designed for carrying heavy plate, and helmets called 'brain buckets'. "Shove yourselves into that, then go down to Master Chief Johnson. He'll give you a choice of loadout. The changing 'room' is in the head other there."

Kevin and Frank dressed in a hurry. They wanted to be prepared for the fight, and were commanded to be ready in twenty minutes. Kevin noticed that Frank became darker when he donned the uniform, as if pulling into himself more. _Frank is like a black hole, unfathomable and mysterious._ The darkness increased when Frank saw Kevin, and he scowled, very obviously not happy with the situation.

"What's wrong, Frank?" Kevin asked as he made necessary adjustments to his uniform for comfort.

"I can't fix what's wrong." In other words, Frank wasn't going to tell Kevin. To look at Kevin was almost like stepping back in time to when he first began his crusade of vengeance, only his grandson's eyes held something more humane. 

Frank thought, and his musings weren't pleasant. _The world will be consumed by violence._ He reflected on everyone in his life. They had **all** been affected by violence, and every one of them reacted differently. _Rogue's been touched by it, marred by what had been done to her. Trent doesn't stand a chance. David's popping pills and hoping not to be haunted by family ghosts. Kevin deals with the threat of violence by making jokes and poking at me. Eleanor? I don't know her well enough to say. But she joined the military. Guess that's her way of coping._

He finished adjusting his gear as Nick told them to hurry their asses. "What are you two doing in there? Putting on makeup and braiding each other's hair? We're about to deploy."

# # #

After the loud blast, Rogue and David rushed to the window. Rogue got there first, opened it and thrust her head out. People ran about, screaming incoherently for help. Some of them were bloodied and hysterical. Small children began to panic and freak out as they saw their parents lose it. Police sirens filled the air with their piercing noise. She tried to piece everything together when they heard another explosion.

"Rogue! Look!" From behind her, he pointed at the Capitol Building. A fiery bloom of red and black marred the blue sky and white marble, then they watched dumbstruck as the structure collapsed in upon itself. A loud rumbling as if there were a thousand stamping elephants made the world turn quiet.

The impact of what happened was too much for them to comprehend.

"I've got to get Trent!" David told her.

She shook her head. She hated to be the bearer of bad news, but she disagreed with his assessment. "He's safer where he is at. For one reason, we need to arm ourselves and Ah don't trust him around weapons. If you need another reason, it'll be hard to protect him when we don't know exactly what we're up against. Besides, **you** have a job to do—Mr. FBI Director. My job is to make sure you stay alive."

David stared at her intensely, wanting to throttle this woman who seemed so impervious and callous. All traces of the normally warm woman were gone. He knew Rogue happened to be right but to not see that his son was out of harm's way?

"Don't make me kick your ass, Castiglioni. Ah'll make you wish your father administered his boot to it instead." Rogue warned. When she saw that he capitulated, she softened her stance. She needed to stay out of heavy fighting because of her fractured facial bones, but she needed to be armed with a handgun, at the very least. "OK, let's assess the situation: We need weapons. Do you know where we can get some?"

"The FBI has an office across the street, along with a secure underground bunker for emergencies like this." It wasn't far, but the short distance just might stretch out into miles. They heard scattered bursts of gunfire and turned to see men with bandanas across their faces slaughter anyone foolish enough to get in their way. Police, civilians, it did not matter to them. "We're wasting time, Rogue."

She nodded as they jogged out of the room, down the hall and paused at the entrance. They still heard the rat a tats of guns and the accompanying sounds of terrified people. Loud booms were heard in the distance, as if cars were exploding. The FBI was going to have to help the police restore order. That much was clear. She changed her mind about the handgun. She wanted a high-powered rifle and a good sniper spot. "Authorize me to use lethal force and get me a rifle. Ah'll perch on the roof and pick people off."

"Consider it done but let's cross the street first." David suggested. They positioned themselves for the best chance at escape. "We're going to have to run our asses off." He pushed open the door and she rushed out, a fleet footed soldier. She purposely went first to draw fire, adroitly avoiding anything in her path. She resembled a graceful gazelle as she dodged debris. He followed her, heart pulsing with adrenaline and a kind of terror that made him feel alive.

Rogue knocked furiously on the door as David came up behind her. He pulled out his badge and ran it through the magnetic card reader. The door unlocked as a bullet came perilously close to hitting David between the shoulder blades.

The building was buzzing with FBI agents arming and putting armor on themselves. David swam into their midst and caught up on the latest news. Someone blew up the Capitol building and now gangs roamed the streets putting down law enforcement officers first, everyone else second. The President was secured in a secret location. He waved Rogue to him and informed the other agents she belonged to S.W.O.R.D and was to be trusted. "Rogue, I'm going out with the other agents. I need to help them."

"Agent Broadus, toss her a rifle and grant her access to the roof. She'll be providing cover as a sniper. Make sure she has a vest and plenty of ammo. Let's try to make safe spots for civilians. Agents Anderson and Smith, let's try to coordinate with the local LEO. And someone find a SMG for me, if you would." He wired himself up with a walkie talkie.

Rogue watched as David seemed to come alive under the pressure. _Maybe that's the crux of all of David's problems. He's internalizing too much. He needs an external focus, a problem outside of his comfort zone. He needs a life outside of work and his mentally ill son._

Agent Broadus disappeared into a room for a moment then came back with a high-powered rifle, the SMG, plenty of rounds, and a couple of Kevlar vests. One was handed to Rogue and David took the other, both putting the protection on with no delay.

"You stay safe, David. Keep your head low and good men on your six." Rogue said as Agent Broadus gestured for her to follow him to the roof. She wanted to set up and get acquainted with the layout of the general area. Sniping 'blind' in an unfamiliar area was not her ideal situation. She hated having no prep time, but some things could not be helped. She went as if to follow Broadus but glanced back when she heard David reply.

"You too. Keep us safe." David said and gave her a smile. All they had to do was try to hold out until the National Guard—or maybe other military personnel—showed up to help contain the miscreants and secure the capital. He turned to organize his agents. He ordered some agents to stay behind and help coordinate the attack, while walkie talkies were being distributed.

A few moments later, she situated herself like a hawk on the roof. The slim soldier took a moment or two to accustom herself with the rifle. It was different than the Barrett she preferred, but learned the operation of it quickly enough.


	10. Righteous Side of Hell

"Start pulling back," Zamira said. She had exhausted herself, even with the mechanical device she had been given. The headset enhanced her abilities two-fold, but now Zamira was completely spent. She stumbled around until a fierce HYDRA soldier helped her sit down. "Most of the Marines are dead. The rest are in hiding. We do want some survivors, per the Baron's orders." Why? Zamira von Strucker did not know, but he was the strategist.

Her lieutenant gave the orders and the hordes of men began to withdraw. HYDRA suffered losses as well, Zamira absently noted. The Marines put up quite a fight, despite being ambushed. "Keep a squadron here." She ordered as Baron von Strucker spoke those words into her mind. "The SEALs are on their way and we want to keep those guys occupied with some of our men. Pick out the weakest two or three battalions." They would serve as a sacrifice so the majority could escape and regroup. "Tell them to use their cyanide pills if they're about to be captured."

The lieutenant just glanced at her for a moment, as if not quite believing what came out of Zamira's mouth, then decided it did sound like it came from the mind of von Strucker. Von Strucker could be relentless and the man knew it. He relayed the commands to the weakest link. They'd end up leaving behind about one hundred and fifty men. "C'mon, Baroness, we must prepare to depart. Your husband would want me to keep you safe."

She nodded wearily. "I think I feel up to moving now." The nameless lieutenant—she preferred to not learn names because it kept the men safely anonymous—assisted her up and led her to a waiting hummer.

# # #

Lance Corporal Murdoch pulled rank and took charge of their two-man rescue mission. He had more battle experience, so Eleanor didn't mind. It would give her a chance to learn from him. He crept ahead and did a little scouting before he waved Eleanor to come up beside him. She clutched her rifle in her hands.

"There's a couple men near the garage. I saw movement, so I know at least one of them is alive." Murdoch whispered to her.

"I can go over there and check on them, if you'll protect my ass." Eleanor told him as a gold lock of hair fell and tickled her dirty cheek. She tucked it back under her helmet with some irritation.

Murdoch grinned at his comrade. "No. I'll go. You stay and protect me."

"Are you sure? I've never shot anyone before. It might be easier for you to do any shooting." Eleanor stated, with logic that made sense to Murdoch.

But he still insisted on being the person to retrieve the injured Marines. "I am sure. I'm just a bit stronger and it'll be easier for me to offer aid."

Eleanor had sharp words on the tip of her tongue, but decided it was better to not criticize him for his decision. She just needed to do her job that he assigned her. She prayed that she would not shoot one of her own by accident. If shooting needed to be done.

Lance Corporal Murdoch sighed. He felt the tension rise in Eleanor and while he understood, he did not want to have to deal with it. "It's not that you're a woman or that you lack the strength to help a Marine out. I'm just saying that I have more strength and experience doing this. It's not a slight to you, OK?"

"OK," She gave a nod and raised her rifle in case she needed to fire. "Go get them and then we'll head back." They already saved a couple men and this was their last rescue run. "Don't worry. I'm not insulted. Just go do it so we can regroup." _I'm not insulted….anymore._

Her comrade ventured out and contacted them, slinging one arm over his shoulder to lift him up. Murdoch held up one finger and Eleanor interpreted to mean, "Only one survivor." They walked over slowly, the other Marine winced in pain as he limped. It seemed that the man had been shot in the leg, as evidenced by the blood red bloom on his pants.

All three of them heard the solid sounds of feet hitting the pavement, as a platoon of HYDRA came around the bend. For a moment, she was paralyzed with not knowing what to do. Then it came to her: Eleanor opened fire, Murdoch and the injured man hit the pavement as her gun roared to life and brought them all down. They managed to get a few rounds out and a stray HYDRA bullet, by sheer misfortune, went through Murdoch's bicep. He cursed a blue streak. "GODDAMN FUCKERS." At least it was a through and through injury, he thought. The blood soaked the arm of his fatigues.

"Eleanor, we're both gonna need medical attention. Let's move out, Marines." Murdoch warned.

"Go ahead, you two. I'll protect your asses, I promise." She watched their backs as they hobbled off toward the armory. The journey wore them down, the tension in the air, the threat of being killed at any time—made them paranoid and anxious.

Eleanor's finger was kept off the trigger, it wouldn't take much to move it back and she wanted to maintain proper gun safety. Her heart beat so hard, she heard it in her ears, the rapid rushed rhythm. She thought it would burst and she would die. Sweat slicked the grip of the gun, but she daren't try to wick off the moisture. Not now. Not when they were so close.

"Let's pick it up." They saw the safety of the building and were glad. Captain Ennis waved at them and barked an order for one of the men—PFC Harper as a matter of fact—to go open the fucking door for them and to get the medic prepared for casualties.

They were rushed in and the two men were laid down so that Sampson could attend to them. PFC Harper offered to assist and Eleanor was told to get off her feet and eat an MRE prepared for her. "You've done enough for the time being. Rest some, we don't know what's coming." Captain Ennis told her gruffly. After they got out of this hellhole, he'd put in to his superiors for Silver Stars to give to her and Murdoch.

She tore into the plate of MRE greedily. Eleanor was hungrier than she expected to be. She also never thought a MRE would taste so good. Some kind soul also supplied her with a glass of water. Eleanor tried not to hear the other men cry out in pain as they were being attended to.

"Sorry it isn't whiskey, but I'll hunt down a bottle later." Captain Ennis smiled at Eleanor as he watched her devour her food.

She grinned. "I'll be ok. Water is just fine." Just then, they heard the sharp reports of heavy gunfire and everyone, except Sampson, picked up their guns and headed for the roof. Eleanor followed, the remnants of her dinner had been forgotten and left behind.

# # #

SEAL Team 2 disembarked the boats they used to make a silent approach to the base, the warriors made barely a ripple in the water. Kevin and Frank remained quiet on the ride over, both preparing for the battle. The other men were silent, too. The element of surprise would be important.

All the men could not wait to engage the enemy and bring them to their knees, then blow their brains out. When they reached shore, the SEALs and Frank were sobered. Bodies of Marines lay so still, so quiet. Blood stood in stark contrast to their fatigues. The stench of death infiltrated their nostrils. Frank was reminded of Vietnam, of having his platoon called in to reinforce a village that the Marines had taken and that the Viet Cong was making a serious effort to recapture. He'd seen a lot of dead men that day, faces plastered with mud. Some of them had been stripped naked and desecrated. _It was best not to think too long on that_ , Frank reflected. _Some of my Marines lost their shit._

"Let's get these bastards." Nick came up from behind. He had been on another boat, but he had no trouble finding those two men. They were big, even per SEAL standards. He motioned to Kevin's commander, who nodded in affirmation.

They moved out, followed by the other SEALs who made landfall and piled out of their boats. The SEAL teams split up in three different directions. Kevin and Frank's team took the middle.

"It's quiet. I wonder if we're too late." Kevin whispered, a pained note to his voice. The surroundings were splattered with bright spots of crimson. Windows were shattered and military vehicles were blackened as if kissed by fire. Smoke darkened the walls of buildings. It seemed like Camp Lejeune had been well and truly plundered.

Frank shot Kevin a stern glance. While he understood the concern, it was time to be professional and not act out the role of a big brother. "Keep your thoughts off your family and back onto the task at hand. I don't want to see your head get shot off. Distractions are lethal." Again, Frank recalled that day in the village. One of his men, shocked at the sight of tortured Americans, failed to notice an improvised explosive device and—with a boom!—his body parts went about in thirty different directions. Later, safe back at the base, Frank wrote the letter to the dead Marine's family himself. It was his duty to do so.

They kept their rifles up as their boots softly clunked on the cement. Nick pointed ahead of them as a group of men clad in dark gray uniforms emerged from a side street, as if they were ghosts. They held a female Marine and taunted her as they tossed her to the ground. Her hair was a dirty blonde, so Kevin knew that it wasn't his sister. _Thank goodness_ , he thought.

She cried but then she saw the SEALs approach and recognized them. HYDRA did not dress like the Punisher. She scrambled to her feet, desperate for safety, and the SEAL team let their armor piercing rounds puncture holes in the HYDRA soldiers before they could be fired upon in return. Blood misted the air, bodies hit the ground.

Frank smirked with satisfaction. He strode over and put a few bullets through the skulls of those that moved. Why give them mercy? They certainly did not give the Marines here any mercy. He felt a surge of loyalty to the Corps, which surprised him after so long, and a fierce desire to avenge these men and women who did nothing wrong.

The woman came up to Nick and introduced herself as Private Sarah Merritt. "I …hid, but they found me. Thank you …thank you." She wasn't capable of much speech, and none of the team could fault her. Her face was dusted with dirt and a smear of blood. They were sure, as sure as she was, that the SEALs barely managed to save her from a horrible fate, one best not mentioned. She trembled and Nick told her to sit down and rest. A medic and three other men were ordered to stay behind and monitor her. The medic took out a metallic, thin blanket and draped it around her. One of the men gave her his canteen so she could have something to drink. Being as she was in a state of shock; she could not proceed with them.

"We'll forge on ahead. Men, if there is trouble take her to the boat." Nick barked at them. "Let's get going, ladies." With that, they trudged on.

The Marines on the roof spotted the approach of HYDRA soldiers, about one hundred or so. They marched onward like the living dead that they were. They had killed a few Marines that dared to come to the armory on their own for sanctuary, which was why they heard shooting.

Captain Ennis grunted with heartfelt regret and visibly winced. "Sorry, Marines, but we'll give them hell for you." The men had been gunned down before they could even reach the door and he judged that's why they did not hear them knock.

More HYDRA fighters came pouring from the side alleys, to descend on the Armory and kill the inhabitants within. The treasure store of military grade weapons would only be a plus to them. The four Marines on the roof were concerned, which was a very valid concern given that many enemies were falling upon them. Although, they still held out hope for help, that hope was fading like butter in a hot skillet.

"Better get shooting. If we're going down, let's take as many of these bastards with us as we can." Captain Ennis said, laconically. The Marines began to rain retribution down on HYDRA, just as Ennis saw a team of SEALs come from behind. HYDRA was effectively between a rock and a hard place, and the Captain grinned.

"Looks like we have some Navy folks showing up late to the party." The SEALS began hammering them from the back and the four Marines took the front of the group. More SEAL teams formed up around the sides—someone had been giving them information so they could coordinate an attack—and left the HYDRA fighters trapped.

Most of them were killed outright, but a few were kept alive so they could be interrogated. Not that it did much good, for by the time the SEALs got to them, they had swallowed their cyanide pills. Nick swore, "Goddamnit." As all he could do was watch the last captured man die, foam at the corners of his mouth. The unknown HYDRA shuddered and went limp.

"At least we got the assholes. That's something." A man came up to Nick, his pace a cocky jaunt. His dark eyes held both secrets and a wrath barely contained. He held his SMG like his SEAL brethren.

Frank asked him his name. The Punisher uniforms did not leave room for a name, though they had an upside down American flag on the sleeve, which was appropriate given the circumstances. There was an air of ruthlessness about the young man that caught Frank's eye. Even from the age of five, Frank had always been good at picking up the scent of dangerous people.

"Name's Carlos Cruz. What's yours?" Cruz observed that the other man knew his way around a gun. Also seemed like he was salty as hell.

"Fred D'Amato." The lie came easily to his lips, since it was an alias he used in the past. The SEALs began to organize and set up communications, so they could call in to the helicarrier. There would have to be much work done here, most of it grim and no one was looking forward to dealing with the grief-stricken family members of the dead Marines.

While no one was looking, Kevin took the opportunity to sneak in closer to the heavily fortified armory building. "Hello, this is Petty Officer Second Class Kevin Castiglioni of the Navy SEALs. Has anyone seen or heard of a PFC Eleanor Castiglioni? She's my sister and I'm looking for her." He bellowed up at the shadowy figures on the roof.

Eleanor stuck her head over the side of the building and her expression was beatific. Her blue eyes gleamed with happiness. She pointed down at her grinning big brother and brought him to the attention of her ranking officer. "That's …my big brother. May I go down to see him, Captain Ennis?"

Captain Ennis nodded, happy that brother and sister could be reunited. "I think we're safe enough. I need to go arrange a medical evacuation for our injured." With that, the Marines went to convene with the SEAL team leadership. By this time, all of the teams had come together, to give their reports and bring more rescued Marines with them. Some of those suffered various degrees of injury, from beatings and slashings to gunshot wounds. A few of the women were battered and intimidated, to the outrage of all the service members.

Eleanor who just emerged from the building, immediately ran to Kevin and gave him a huge hug. "I'm so glad to see you." Then she cried, as the tension from trying to survive burst. "It was horrible. So horrible. So many good people…were…But I'd do everything the same. I'd still kill those men, but maybe I'd shoot them in the nuts first."

"You're coming down off the adrenaline, off the excitement of battle." Frank walked toward them, his tone cool and somewhat aloof. "Nick says we've got to get out of here. The armory's being emptied, and we need to be on the move. Per the generals, we are required to check out the small town outside, because the USMC air station has been taken out too. There's serious concern about the safety of the civilians."

The three of them came back to Nick. He was allowing the helicopters to come in so the Marines could be medevac'd out. He appeared more than forbidding. "Out of all the Marines on base, _Fred_ , one hundred remain. Too many dead to count right now, and we're hoping there are still a few deep in the woods." He took a deep breath and informed the trio, "There's more: D.C, Chicago, Seattle, Portland, and San Fran are all under attack. They blew up the damn senate! The President is ordering a portion of all the armed forces to help quell the insurrection in D.C."

Frank, Eleanor and Kevin all reacted differently to the news. Frank hated the thought of armed forces putting boots on the ground in America. Eleanor and Kevin were astonished, not knowing what would come next. "So he's declaring martial law?"

Nick leaned forward to tell Frank something in hushed tones. The other two people tried but could not make out what he said. "I found out two minutes ago that Steve was killed in the White House. Throat sliced from ear to ear. Vice President Claire Conrad is taking the reins." Nick knew that everyone was going to find out sooner or later, but he made a vow to his White House informant not to broadcast it wildly about.

Frank said nothing. Nothing about him gave away the fact Nick gave him such sober and frightening news. _She is going to declare martial law; I can feel it._

"We better get our asses in gear, kids. We need to secure Jacksonville then find out where we go from there." Nick said, feeling a knot of apprehension in his stomach. _I want to know exactly how they managed to accomplish a multi-pronged attack._

# # #

The day had been hellish to say the least. The reports given to David and the other high ranking FBI agents were shocking. Every government official, that included David, were ordered back into their respective offices while the National Guard and the Army sorted out the mayhem taking place. The armed forces would be the ones responsible for securing and seeing the civilians to safety. Law enforcement were told this was out of their league.

David, a very considerate person, decided the two of them needed a quiet place, to decompress before they received even more horrible news. _Besides,_ he reflected, _this gives me a shot to know her better. And it looks like she could use some rest._

David was a gentleman and ushered her into his office. He closed the door and locked it.

Rogue felt her jaw ache. Her body ached in protest from so much moving. And yes, she worried about Frank, so that meant her heart ached as well. Oh, she knew that he'd grumble at her and tell her that worry was useless. He might be right, but she was going to worry anyway to spite him.

Rogue appraised her surroundings, which were appointed with rich warm leather chairs and a couch. Decorative pillows echoed with vibrant hues. The walls were a warm terra cotta red, to give the room an energized feel. _This office was exactly what a Mr. Fancy Pants FBI Director should have_ , Rogue mused. She considered, after a moment, it was more like a suite. It had a formal sitting room—the room she was currently in—where she supposed interviews with reporters and the like took place. There were two doors in the back of the large suite, and she asked where they went to.

"One goes to my private bathroom and the other goes to my office. Feel free to use the bathroom whenever you need." He said as he sank into a leather seat. "We're going to be here awhile, and you seem tired." David gestured toward the couch. "Just try not to mark up the leather with your boots."

"David, you are a sweetheart." She sat on the couch and removed her boots. She lay back with a contented sigh. "This is much more comfortable than one of those damn beds on a military airplane."

He laughed, "I figured you've had a long day. Are you thirsty? I've got some drinks around here. Some days are long, so it's best for me to keep something on hand." He moved across the room and opened a 'hidden' mini-fridge. The wood covering matched the wood of the bookshelves. He popped out a couple diet cokes and offered her one.

She pushed herself up and accepted it. "Been thirsty since Ah entered the congressional hearing. Thank you kindly." Rogue asked for some aspirin and he went into his office to track his bottle down. He came back with two little white pills. She swallowed them down with a splash of pop. She lay back down. Her face began to pound then throb, sending a steady staccato of pain through her.

"When did you have surgery?" David asked as he gave her a plastic sandwich baggie filled with ice that he had an agent get him.

"Let's see…just under twenty-four hours ago. Ah was rushed on board the plane immediately after surgery." She took the bag and put it on her face. The coldness seemed to ease her discomfort and her body relaxed just a little bit more.

David nodded, glad that the ice helped her a little bit. "I know when you touched me, you saw what happened in the park. Would you mind if I asked you about your experience in the Church?"

"G-man, Ah don't feel much like chatting until the aspirin kicks in. Ah'll tell ya, because Ah do owe you for that, but just let me rest a tad. To kill time, you could tell me about yourself until it does." Rogue said, as she carefully sipped her pop, tilting her head to the side, while lying down.

"You're not feeling well, I'm sorry." David was contrite, then continued, as he figured she would appreciate the distraction. "Well, you know I grew up in the home of a cop. He was a good guy, or so I thought as I grew up. I know Salvatore did the best he could for me. And by Frank's own admission, he wasn't doing too hot at the time." _Including sending me to electro shock therapy for 'night terrors.' I don't remember the treatments, but the records were there for me to find in his papers after he died._ "I graduated from high school at sixteen and went into college…"

"Ok," Rogue grumbled, "you ain't a Mr. Fancy Pants, you're a Mr. **Smarty** Pants."

David laughed at her wit. "I had big plans of being a psychiatrist, and that takes about twelve years. During my last two years of residency, I met Morena O'Hara-Ricci. She was half Italian and half Irish. By far, the wildest and most beautiful woman I'd ever seen. We married, then had Kevin seven months after the wedding. There was a little bit of a scandal among her family, but after a brawl with her brother, we worked out our differences. I was noticed by the FBI shortly after graduation, and they offered to pay off my school loans if I became a Special Agent."

"I liked the job. Hell, I love being the Director, but back when I started out, I felt like I was making a real difference. Maybe I was just being an idealist." David told her. "Then the more successful, I became, the more our family grew. Eleanor and Emma followed a few years after Kevin. Then Cameron. Last of all, Trent. He was the surprise baby."

"You left out the part of your childhood, comrade." Rogue drawled.

"Truth is, I don't remember much of it. I do know I was subjected to electroshock therapy for 'night terrors', but I suspect it was to remove memories of my life before being a Salvatore. I can't provide any evidence to support my theory, so that has to remain an educated guess." David moved to the chair closest to Rogue.

"Oh, David, Ah'm sorry. That's horrible." Rogue sighed. Her pain receded enough to perk up Rogue's spirits.

"Eh, just don't tell Frank. It'd just make him angry with no outlet for it. Some things are better left buried and forgotten, never to be mentioned." David said. "Speaking of which, if you really are not comfortable talking about your past, you don't have to talk about what happened to you. I must admit to a great deal of personal curiosity and it was selfish of me to ask."

Rogue blessed David's sensitive and caring heart. _David is so different from his father._ _It's not that Frank doesn't care at all, it's just hard for him. He also doesn't verbalize it._ "It won't hurt me to talk about it. It'd help, if anything."

"Just remember, I can't treat you, but I can listen and give advice." He was acutely aware of his position, as he sat near her head. It was the traditional position that people thought of when they went to the 'shrink's' office.

 _Ah lied. It is gonna hurt me to discuss it, but Ah must or this experience is gonna eventually eat me up and spit me out. Ah need to tell someone other than Frank._ "Slavery was what it was like, David, and rape of a far more intimate kind than that of the physical." She described her powers to the best of her ability and David sympathized without being condescending. "Ah had all those voices in my mind! Screaming, pleading, threatening to take control of me." Her southern accent grew thicker like hardening cement. "Ah wanted them to shut up and Ah promised myself that Ah'd never let them get the better of me. But even as Ah promised that, Ah also knew Ah was losing the fight."

She looked furious then her expression calmed down. "Ah was gonna go crazy, David. Until your father laid a finger on me to take my pulse. Yeah, there was the influx of his painful memories. God, did that cause us both agony. But whatever happened, kept the other voices at bay."

David pondered. "Do you think that maybe his personality is keeping the others away?"

"Ah think so. Ah don't know how, though." She admitted. "Your father asked me once if Ah thought that we might have…exchanged parts of our traits and behaviors. Ah told him no, but Ah've had time to reconsider that position."

David shook his head. "He's still what I'd categorize as a very hard man, Rogue. You might have incorporated some of his personality into yours, but he's a tough cookie." _If she had somehow softened him, it was not obvious_ , he thought. "I hypothesis that your shared trauma, regarding your respective violent pasts, created a sort of psychic bond. Not the mystic kind, but a bond forged out of sympathy for each other's horrible history. He's capable of sympathy—not to the extent of a normal person, mind you—but enough to prevent him into becoming the monster he kills."

Rogue was going to say more, but fell asleep in mid thought instead. She was completely worn out from the long week she had, and David left her to go work in his office. He needed to make phone calls to the White House and see what was going on.


	11. A Touch of Your Mayhem

The small town called Jacksonville was left devastated, having been completely plundered and the citizens driven out, if not killed and disposed of elsewhere. There weren't bodies strewn about like forgotten dolls, but the burning cars lit up the neighborhoods. Houses were smashed into, and most were emptied of personal, valued belongings. The stores were in the same state as the houses.

Nick set up bases and sent out patrols to search for survivors. He sent out other patrols to locate water, food and more medical necessities. He got news from his superiors and relayed the information on to those who needed to know. He thought that Frank would appreciate finding this out from him, rather than hear about it from the news, or another third party. _We don't' need this mess on top of what has already happened. Might need to send Frank back up to New York to sort things out. I'll tell him to take Rogue, too. She knows Mystique and he needs someone to watch his back._

"Fred," Nick used Frank's alias to grab his attention. "I've got something I need to tell you. It's about your friend Murdoch." While Nick was aware that the two vigilantes had an antagonistic quasi-friendship, Frank respected Matt Murdoch. When they weren't busy punching or throwing each other around on rooftops, that is.

That got Frank's attention, alright. "What's up with Choir Boy?" Frank's voice had an edge of suspicion to it. Frank was sharp; Nick appreciated that about him. One could hardly claim to like him, but there was a hell of a lot to appreciate about the former Marine.

Nick cut to the chase, neither man liked to waste time. "Murdoch's been shot. He was shot as he came out of the courthouse. He's in serious condition and his recovery is rather up in the air. The docs think he'll survive, but they remain guarded about his long-term prognosis."

Frank furrowed his brow and the words that emerged from his throat sounded more like a growl. "Who's the son of a bitch that did that to him?" _I am going to tear that asshole apart._ His hand clenched into a fist.

"Apparently, **you** were that son of a bitch." Nick said, dryly. He pulled out his smartphone and pulled up the video that was sent to him. Together, he and Frank watched the crystal-clear images of an older Frank marching up to Murdoch and his longtime friend, whip out a hand gun and then shoot Murdoch in the side.

"Goddamn Mystique." Frank snarled. "I need to go take care of this, Nick."

"I figured you'd want to handle this problem yourself, and I agree that it does need to be handled, but I think you should take Rogue with you. You're going to be up against the Kingpin, too. Take a few months rest. She needs it. I want to keep you two in reserve. " That was Nick's unofficial approval to go and do something permanent to Wilson Fisk. There was a risk of a power vacuum, but the threat of Fisk retaining command now outweighed the dubious benefits. "He's been helping von Strucker get arms into the country, or so my spies have found out." He wished they found out months ago, maybe this shit fest could have been avoided or lessened.

Frank nodded. He was relieved that Nick agreed with the assessment that Fisk needed to be neutralized. _Finally, someone else with the common-sense God gave them._ "I'll pick up my girl on the way up to New York. Call ahead and make sure she's ready. I trust that I'll have transportation while up there?"

"Yeah, a copter will take you up to D.C then I've ordered you to have access to one of my SUV's. The President has ordered all government officials to their stations. I know for a fact, Rogue is still with David. Talked to him a few minutes ago, and mentioned you might be heading for his neck of the woods."

"Then I need to my ass in gear." Frank picked up his rucksack as Nick told him which helicopter to take. The FBI headquarters in D.C had a landing pad. Nick would call ahead so the Army wouldn't blow them out of the sky.

He didn't want to disturb Kevin and Eleanor's reunion; his excuse being not wanting to take the time for goodbyes. They were military; they'd understand. If they didn't, well, they needed to toughen up.

He felt the absence of Rogue, though, and that was his other reason for making a quick exit from this place of death. He'd never admit that he missed Rogue to anyone. However, the rescue mission had shown him that he loved—truly loved—her. He remembered seeing her in that hospital bed, beat up, defiant yet emotionally exposed. As dangerous as he was, he craved a smile from that beautiful, strong Southern belle. The woman who brought a whisper of life back to him and let him think that there might be something other than vengeance to pursue. She was the woman who felt like summer in his arms. _I'm getting soft._ _Or maybe, just maybe, I'm not as dead inside as I once believed. Maybe that was a lie I told myself to get by._

He looked back to see Eleanor having a serious discussion with Kevin. _Those kids will be alright. They take after me._

One of Nick's assistants coughed and said, "Sir, the helicopter is ready."

# # #

"Wake up, Rogue." The voice came from David. He hated to disturb her, but the old man was on his way from the landing pad and she needed to be ready. The tall FBI Director hovered over her, which she didn't care for. With her eyes tightly closed, she sensed his presence. He noticed her furrowed brow and backed up to give her space.

"Go away. Why does everyone always want to wake me up?" Rogue opened a baleful blue eye and glared at him reproachfully. "If it isn't you that's disturbing my shut-eye, it's your father. Ah swear, my time in boot camp let me get more rest." She pushed herself up and tried to find her good nature. She failed. She desired nothing more than to get more sleep.

"Frank's on his way. Should be here in a moment or two. He was informed he could take you with him to New York City for some mission. I don't know what that is. Probably something dangerous."

Rogue sobered up. She pulled on her boots and tightened the laces. After she was done with that, she ran her fingers through her unruly mass of hair. "Thank you, Captain Obvious, for pointing out that the mission will most likely be perilous. Ah never would have guessed." She located her can of pop, then gulped down the remainder of the luke warm beverage.

He snorted, amused at her sarcasm. A knock at the door announced that he had visitors. David unlocked the door and Frank wandered in. His presence filled the room. He took in the surroundings and decided that David had done very well for himself. "I got word in the copter that it'll be a while before we can leave. There's still a warzone going on out there. The Army's got their hands full with those assholes. If we didn't have a task to do in New York, I'd suggest we hang around here and clean up the streets."

"What's it like down South?" Rogue asked. "Is Eleanor alright?"

"She's fine. Kevin's fine. But many Marines aren't. Neither are most of the civilians for that matter." Frank said. "The death toll is expected to be quite substantial and the area has been …ravaged. Scorched, even." _About fifteen thousand Marines dead and twice that number for civilians_ , he thought, _but that was just an estimate._

David was relieved to hear his children were safe for the moment, but also felt a stab of guilt over the needless deaths of Americans on home soil. Clearly, this was an invasion and not just terrorist activity. "Yeah, I've been on the phone with the new President. She definitely gave me the riot act, until I turned over evidence HYDRA had not been planning this attack via conventional means."

"She? What about Steve Rodgers?" Rogue asked, puzzled.

David sighed, a heavy sound that did not promise good news. "He was assassinated in the White House. Claire Conrad, his VP, is the new President. She'll be coming out with an announcement soon."

"Fucking HYDRA." Rogue scowled as Frank took a seat next to her.

"Are you alright?" Frank inquired mildly. To put it politely, Rogue seemed out of sorts. It was interesting to see this other side of her that was not so cheerful. It made her seem more human.

Rogue attempted a feeble grin. "Ah know Ah'm in a foul mood. For starters, Ah feel like Ah need more rest. My body is sore. Everywhere. My cheek hurts like a son of a bitch and our country is being invaded by terrorists. Don't worry, love, Ah'll put my big girl panties on and suck it up." Rogue thought, _The sarcasm is strong with me, today._ "But seriously, Ah'll do what needs to be done no matter what."

Frank considered her words. He'd been in a piss poor temper often and still got the job done. _I'll give Rogue the benefit of the doubt._

David glanced down at his buzzing phone—Rogue reckoned he received a text—and he flicked his phone off. David grabbed a remote from a bookshelf, pushed a button and revealed a TV hidden behind a painting. "The President just texted me to say that she was ready to make the announcement now that the violence in the city has been contained."

The dark-haired woman, who wore a conservative and staid navy blue pantsuit, said, "My fellow Americans, I stand before you to announce President Steve Rogers has been assassinated by a killer. Many members of Congress have fallen victim as well. I, as Vice President, have just been sworn in as acting President. I hereby assure you that I will take all necessary measure to ensure your safety in this frightening crisis."

Claire Conrad took a breath before she continued, "Because of the attacks by civilians made on our cities, and of potential terrorist activity, my administration is enacting martial law. The Constitution and the Bill of Rights are being suspended as of now. The military has been given the lists of gun owners from all states. You are required to turn in all guns at your local police station. The consequences of not obeying will be as follows: All assets will be frozen and property will be seized. Anyone found carrying a gun will be shot, no warnings given. I promise that I and my administration will protect the citizens of our country. I'll make other announcements as necessary. Good night and be safe."

With that, the Presidential seal was displayed on the screen. David fiddled with the remote and the TV clicked off.

"I don't like this." David said. "People have a basic human right to protect themselves. Law enforcement and the military can't be everywhere."

"We should leave, Lori. The SUV is ready." Frank said, ending the conversation. He wanted to be in New York City tonight. They had planning and preparation to do, Frank thought two or three days should suffice, and he needed to let Rogue receive quality rest. This running around the world would wear out the toughest and fittest Marine, let alone someone recovering from major surgery and sustained beatings.

"Thank you for everything, David." Rogue told him as she followed in Frank's wake as he left the room.

The last thing she heard was, "You can thank me by trying to be safe."

# # #

They pulled up at a hideout that Rogue knew nothing about, just outside of New York City. It was a nondescript house in a rough neighborhood. The paint was beginning to flake off and the windows were covered by iron bars, and the yard was slightly overgrown. Not the friendliest house Rogue had ever seen. Frank parked, left the vehicle and pushed up the garage door before re-entering the loaned SUV.

"Just so you know, it's not advisable to wander around at night. We're only here for you to take a breather." Frank drove the SUV into the garage before the neighbors could get too curious about such a nice car. He locked the door and they entered the sparse house.

 _Old fashioned is what Ah'd call this décor_ , she said to herself, _but in good repair_ _with enough furniture to get by. Also, very clean._ She made her way to the bedroom, undressed, and waited for Frank. When he didn't show up, she padded back out to the living room where he was unfolding the hide-a-bed. It was clear to her that he intended to sleep out here instead of where he belonged.

"Frank, come sleep with me." Rogue entreated as she stood in her underwear, moonbeams from the window spilled onto her skin and made it glow. "Ah've missed you."

The expression on his face was inscrutable but his eyes warmed as he drank her up. "Are you sure?" Frank had every intention of acting the gentleman and did not wish to impose upon her.

"Ah am. Nothing is gonna happen, but Ah want you beside me." She smiled as it became his turn to follow her. And he did follow her. Rogue felt the intensity of his gentle regard for her as he brought her into his arms when they laid in bed. Both slept well and protected in each other's care.

# # #

Rogue opened her eyes, relieved at not having been poked or told to wake up. She felt a million times better. She stretched and smiled, the late morning sun kissed her cheek with warmth and she looked over at Frank's side of the bed. He was gone, but she expected that, since he kept early hours. What she didn't expect was a white jewelry box.

She picked up the box like it was a fragile piece of art. _What is it? Dare Ah open it?_ Her heart beat quickly as she tried to come up with what might be in the box. _A hat pin? Maybe a rosary? Or a necklace? No, the box is too small. It's for a ring, Ah'm sure._ She rolled over into a sitting position on the edge of the bed, her fingers trembled as she tried to summon the courage to open it. She managed to slowly pry open the lid to reveal a plain silver band. She removed it from the box to examine the ring.

 _It's well made, seems constructed of sterner stuff than silver or white gold though. Ah think it's made of stainless steel, more practical than precious metals—Ah approve. There's writing on the inside…Semper Fidelis._ _Always Faithful. This is what Ah thought it was…._ Rogue cried. She was joyful, but so scared. "Semper Fidelis…"

While he cooked up some breakfast in the kitchen, eggs and turkey bacon, Frank heard her rustling around and came back in time to watch her open the container and he watched her face flood with emotions. He went to her and sat on the bed. "Will you marry me?" He had shaved his hair into a high and tight cut and there wasn't even a five-o clock shadow on his face. He clearly had prepared for this and he was dressed in jeans and a black shirt.

Rogue smiled even though her blue eyes were overrun with tears. "Yes, Ah want to marry you. Ah do! But Frank, you should know that Ah'm not all that sure about how Ah feel about having sex." The thought of making love did bring up conflicting sentiments. She did remember it being pleasurable and loved taking part in the act, but then …Vladimir and his friends.

"Marriage isn't about sex, Lori. I've gone without it for many years. We'll wait until you're ready." Frank told her. She placed the ring into his palm, then he slid the ring on her finger. "Now, my family is your family." They kissed and her lips were rose petal soft against his.

"You want me even if Ah'm broken?" Rogue asked, her words like a gentle breeze. She stared a hole through the old beige carpet.

He tilted her head up, his hand both strong and tender. "You're not broken. You are NOT soiled goods, either." _I've seen broken and she is not it by any stretch of the imagination._ He wondered how Viorica fared, as damaged as she became.

Rogue only said, "Thank you." _It's nice to be told that Ah'm not garbage. He's marrying me because he values me._ He let his hand fall away

She just stared at the ring on her hand for a moment, absorbing the new knowledge that someday they'd tie the knot. "Can Ah ask why? This is so unexpected."

"I didn't expect to ever propose again." He drew in his breath before he continued, "You know me better than anyone dead or living and I know you pretty damn well. I hated hearing what they did to you in the Ukraine, how they abused you and tried to take away your strength. You didn't let them. You kept on fighting, you're a survivor. Your tenacity made me realize that I love you far too much. And if I get killed, I want you to be a part of my family. I want you to have good people to lean back on." _I got my wish; David is a better man than I am. He'll be there for her._

Rogue replied, "Well, Ah have Will."

"I don't think you should put too much faith in a man you know hardly anything about. When we have more time, you need to do some research on him. Let's just say that he doesn't get all his family's revenue from having a burlesque house." Frank said, darkly. "I think he's a mercenary at best and someone I might have to take 'care' of at worst."

Rogue remained quiet. Frank gave her food for thought. _Maybe Ah was so anxious for family that Ah overlooked something about him. Frank's got a great instinct about people and Ah'd be an idiot to ignore it._ "Yeah, Ah'll do that later after we take care of Fisk and Raven." She started to smell the food in the kitchen. "That smells good. Let's go eat. Oh, may Ah make a request?"

"You may." Frank may or may not acquiesce to that request, but he'd listen to her.

"If you can, wear your dress blues when we get hitched. If it doesn't violate etiquette, that is." Rogue suggested, not wanting him to commit some faux pas.

"I'll see what I can do." Frank promised.

# # #

Frank and Rogue rested up for two and a half months, which Rogue acknowledged as generosity on his part. The swelling in her face disappeared and she thought she would always have a small surgical scar as a permanent resident. _Eh,_ she thought, _scars are a certainty in this line of work._ Her body lost the soreness and her purple bruises became greenish in hue. The letters carved into her disgusted them, but they were healing up.

"After this mission, we'll burn it off. It'd be better than trying to cut off the skin. It'll hurt like hell." Frank stated.

She zipped herself in her S.W.O.R.D uniform and held up special handcuffs. "These are standard issue for when we're dealing with …extraordinary humans such as mutants. They inhibit powers. So, my thought is to clap them on Mystique, pull out my piece and cap her in the head."

"Good plan. I approve. I'll take care of Kingpin." He summoned her over so they could examine the floor plans—procured by a hacker that Frank paid handsomely—for Fisk Towers. "We'll enter at this location, work our way up. We'll separate when we reach the top of the stairs. I go right, you go left." He added. "He has guards stationed here…here and here." Frank pointed at different locales on the map.

"What about cameras?" Rogue questioned, memorizing the map and where everything would be.

"After I head right, I'm going to find a security panel. This," he held up some sort of electronic scrambling device, "will disable the security cameras for about thirty minutes. It'll take about a minute to set up and activate, so I'll need you to guard my six. After that, we'll progress together to the penthouse."

"You have a nice six to guard." Rogue grinned cheekily at him.

Frank grunted, but she thought she caught a glimmer of a smile. "Keep your head in the game, Lori. Now's not the time for fucking around. Now care to tell me what our plan is and how we'll execute it?"

"Ever the disciplined one, Ah see." She proceeded to tell him in exquisite detail about the strategy he laid out until he nodded with approval. Despite her penchant for flippancy and lightheartedness, she always kept her mind on the true goal. _Ah just like to flavor things up a bit, put some cayenne pepper into the conversation. No harm in that._

"You were paying attention. Finish with your loadout, shove it in the SUV then we'll be on our way." The assault would begin just after sundown, with the night giving them some extra protection. Fisk Towers were full of windows and was well lit in the daytime, which made it unsuitable for the assassination they were about to undertake. At night, however, it would be safer and less populated. "This is probably going to be the only chance we get at killing Fisk and Mystique. Let's use silencers to take down their guards. IF," Frank stressed, "we need to."

Rogue understood what he meant; there would only be a limited amount of time, so sort out the priorities. Take out the marks first, all the thugs and hangers-on were just icing on the retribution cake. She dug around his supply crate and grabbed two of them. He had plenty for himself.

She picked up her nylon assault rifle scabbard, rounds and put them in the open hatch of the SUV. She packed the communicator Nick gifted her with just in case the situation went south. Rogue strapped her secondary gun to her thigh, knife at her waist and the rush of an impending fight lifted her. She sneered, just with the mental image of finally killing her foster mother. _This has been a long time coming. You deserve the death Ah'm bringing and Ah'll be able to sleep better at night knowing you're gone._

Rogue hopped up the passenger's seat and buckled in. It didn't take Frank long to follow suit.

They parked the expensive vehicle about half a mile from Fisk Towers and they approached the imposing structure on foot. Both people clung to the shadows and they used empathic hand gestures to communicate, rather than speak. They came to the back of the building, intending to use the back door as their entrance point.

Rogue pulled out her assault rifle as they waited a few moments—there was a security guard on foot patrol. Frank would rather not kill or harm him, since the man probably thought this was a legitimate job. The man seemed like an ordinary Joe Schmo, probably had a wife and children, and Frank could detect no malice in his eyes.

Frank used his silenced pistol to eliminate a camera before it could take video of them. The camera shattered, glass and electronic parts falling to the ground. They shimmied up to the door, and with a deft move, Frank popped open the entrance and they rushed in.

"Ten floors up, Lori, let's haul ass." Frank said, all business. He anticipated this moment for a long time. He'd always planned to kill the Kingpin when Daredevil was distracted. And there would be no interference by the Choir Boy tonight, Matt was alive but still in a critical care unit. _Matt isn't going to approve, but this needs to be done. Wilson cannot be allowed to believe he can have prosecutors killed at will._ He planned a visit to the hospital to check up on the good Catholic boy.

She maintained proximity to him as they quickly ascended the stairs. They took a breather when they reached the top to assess the guard situation. Frank and Lori hid in the stairwell as guards talked

"….Raven's been bitchier than usual. I heard her and Mr. Fisk bitterly arguing about something. I couldn't tell you what about, though. They clammed up when they saw me approach. Be careful around them, Josh. I think things are going to get worse between them. Might even get violent."

Frank and Rogue exchanged a smirk between them. They were not averse to exploiting a situation and animosity amongst their targets was an advantage to their mission. Rogue waited until the guards passed before easing into the hall. Frank did the same. Rogue saw just what Frank wanted her to do. She went to the assigned position and put her assault rifle over her shoulder to withdraw her pistol. _Ah gotta kill Tweedle-dee and Tweedle-dum as quiet as possible._

While guarding Frank as he set up the scrambler, the two large and fat guards (though not as immense as Wilson Fisk, Rogue observed) meandered around the corner to make another circuit.

Rogue's two shots went through their throats and they collapsed into Armani clad mountains. Before they fell, their eyes showed shock and then acceptance of their fate. Frank glanced up at her and gave a thumb up. That meant he did his job. As usual, he took the lead as he passed Rogue and paused near the dead men.

"Nice clean shooting, Lori." If they had the time, they'd conceal the bodies in a closet, but he had the urge and the gut instinct that this might be the only opportunity to kill the Kingpin and his psychopathic blue floozy. He continued to his goal, his large body providing cover for her. She knew better than to protest; Frank simply did what was in his head to do. It was enough that he brought her along. That respect was more than most people got.

The duo came to a pair of rich mahogany doors with brass Chinese door handles that glinted under the fluorescent lights. She smooshed her ear up to the hard wood and heard yelling, smashing sounds as if someone threw a vase against the wall. The argument was like music to her ears. "They're arguing, Frank. Now would be a good time to mount an attack."

He agreed and on the count of three, they both kicked in the door. The door shuddered then caved in, splinters falling to the tiled floor, and granted them reluctant entrance. The aroma of rich food wafted through the air, and Frank heard the arguing cease. The broaching of Fisk's inner sanctum had got their attention.

"Guards, we have visitors. Kill them!" Fisk roared over an intercom system, "Mystique, get off your posterior and assist them."

"You go fight them your damn self, Wilson. I'm not going to endanger myself and you sure as fuck know why!" Raven retorted. Earlier that day, she sent her clones off on business unknown and was left unguarded, since she feared that he would harm them to extract a confession out of her. She hadn't thought he'd harm her….until just a few moments ago.

 _That's interesting. He doesn't have guards in with them._ His mind put two and two together. Fisk was obviously in the middle of a fight with Raven and that meant he dismissed his guards. _I'd still like to find out the reason for the disagreement._

Rogue sidled up to him, having put the pistol back into its holster. She opted for the assault rifle to deal the coming onslaught of guards. She clicked off the safety catch and got ready to shoot Mystique.

"We won't have long, Rogue. I'll take Fisk, you go after her." They entered the penthouse and he quickly wired up some claymore mines. They would figure out what to do when the henchmen came flooding up into the penthouse. The mines would herald the guards' arrival with a joyous explosion.

They filed down a short but narrow hall that opened into a well-appointed but not ostentatious living room. Modern art hung on the walls and classical music softly played. Mystique stood up and ran away from the two intruders. Rogue followed in hot pursuit and left Frank

Mystique disappeared into the rather large penthouse and Rogue kept her wits about her. _She has an intimate knowledge of this apartment. Gotta keep my head on straight._ Rogue turned a corner and felt Mystique launch herself at her, claws attempting to scratch something vital, something necessary. The younger mutant just barely managed to avoid having a nail gouge out her eye, but Rogue did an unexpected move and grabbed Raven by the wrist, even as the two now furious women tumbled back.

Raven landed on Rogue who let out a 'umpph' as her breath was pressed out of her. The assault rifle had been flung into the air and landed with a clack about five feet away. Raven punched Rogue in the nose, as the other woman struggled to get out the handcuffs. BAM, BAM, BAM went Raven's fist into the side of Rogue's face that hadn't been previously smashed.

A click caught Raven off balance and she shimmered into a woman with black hair and pale skin. Rogue shoved her off and clicked the other part of cuff around an exposed pipe. Rogue spat out blood onto the pristine white floor and seized the assault rifle. She aimed it at Raven, fully expecting to pump her full of bullets.

"Rogue! Don't kill me! I'm pregnant!" Raven exclaimed. With no powers, the shapeshifter lay naked and exposed on the ground. She never wore clothes, really, just preferring to warp her molecules into a semblance of garments. Secretly, Rogue wondered if Raven even felt cold strutting around nude and had concluded that her foster monster of a mother did not.

Rogue looked at her slightly swollen abdomen and grimaced. _Ah can't shoot her now._ "Fuck it. You try anything funny or deceptive, Ah'll shoot ya."

Mystique leered at her former foster daughter and hoped this next news would devastate her. "I'm having Frank's baby. How do I know it's his? Wilson got snipped long before I joined his organization. And you are acquainted with my powers enough to recognize I have control over every cell in my body. That includes my reproductive cells."

The revelation did not have the effect on Rogue that Mystique oh so gleefully anticipated. Rogue simply grew cold and brought up a hard wall around her. Her eyes showed no emotion, no inner thoughts about how her fiancé got her personal nemesis pregnant. "He's been using condoms." Rogue said and made sure to keep her tone neutral. _Ah am not gonna reward you with a reaction, bitch. Believe me, Ah'm very mad but Ah ain't ever gonna let you know about it._

"I'd check those condoms if I were you. I poked holes in the entire box." The downright evil smile on Mystique's face faded as Rogue continued to not react in any way. The women heard crashes and yelling as Frank fought the Kingpin.

Rogue took a moment on what to do with Mystique. She saw a thin rug and pulled out her knife to cut it into strips. The S.W.O.R.D agent rigged up the fabric strips securely and tied it around Mystique's neck and then fastened it tightly to the naked woman's wrists. With the spare fabric, Rogue lashed Raven's ankles together. "If you struggle, you'll choke yourself out. So, for the safety of your baby, Ah wouldn't advise it. Ah'll check in on ya in a few." With that, she strode back to the entrance to shoot any guards that made it past the claymore mines.

 _It sure seems to be taking them awhile, but maybe they must arm themselves first._ Rogue assumed a kneeling position, just slightly behind a corner but with enough visibility to determine the potential targets.

Frank and Wilson brawled through the living room, raining blows on each other. Frank was smart and agile enough to avoid most of them, but the punches Wilson managed to land hit like a bag of cement. Frank knew he had to win this fight; the stakes were too high for him to lose. Wilson would gain more power and prestige and innocent people would die. Frank also reckoned the longer the fight, the worse off he would be. Wilson Fisk had more strength and stamina

Wilson shifted his weight and Frank lunged at him, seeing an opportunity to use his weight against him. They stumbled into the sunken sitting room, which gave Frank more momentum. The Kingpin crashed into his black Grand piano, making a musical cacophony as he did. The wind was temporarily knocked out of the larger man, and that gave Frank a chance to grab a piano wire. He had an idea on how best to use it, but it would require careful maneuvering.

The Punisher pulled out a grenade, he carried them most of the time out on missions, removed the pin and threw it at a huge plate glass window, reaching from floor to ceiling. Frank thought it had a great view of a crime infected and rotting city. The explosion not only decimated the glass, but also rocked the two mortal adversaries into the nearby wall. Tiny shards of window cut into them, leaving red lines in their wake.

Fisk got his arms around Frank with the intention of bear hugging him to death. Frank shoved another grenade down Fisk's pants—he purposely neglected to pull the pin but Fisk had no idea. In a panic, Wilson Fisk let Frank go immediately. Frank put the piano wire around the Kingpin's throat and began to pull it taut, able to control him long enough to get him to the open window. Frank shoved the Kingpin out with great effort and had to cling to the window frame to avoid following his target.

Frank watched as the Kingpin fell through the air like a gigantic white pelican. He hit the street—fortunately he managed to avoid a group of pedestrians—and the impact was enough to detonate the grenade. Wilson Fisk burst in a flurry of gore and fire. Screams came up from the people down below.

Then the claymore mines went off and he brought himself back to the task. _We need to get the hell out of here._ He located his rifle and joined Rogue.

Both Rogue and Frank were pleased to see the mines had opened a hole in the flooring, permitting them to have a safer place from which to pick off the surviving bodyguards.

"Rogue, let me out of these restraints!" Mystique screamed, then choked as she struggled. The fighting from Mystique ceased. _Mystique and her brat will be just fine_ , Rogue reasoned, _but she ain't gonna want to do that again_.

"Done told you not to do that!" Rogue yelled back at her.

Frank frowned, not happy that Rogue failed to kill Mystique. He questioned her, "Why didn't you put an end to her?"

Rogue glared at him for a moment. It wasn't his fault or choice, she recognized that he was guiltless of siring a child on Raven Darkholme, but Rogue still bore him some resentment. All resentment actually lay on Raven's shoulders, Rogue understood that intellectually. "She's pregnant, Frank. She says the child is yours. She told me with all certainty because Fisk got a vasectomy before they even met."

Frank was speechless and stunned—he neither knew how to react or how to feel. _I don't have time to deal with this shit. We'll worry about it when we get Raven and leave this hellhole._ The bodyguards began to line up and so the vigilantes turned their assault rifles on them. The room became a kill zone.

# # #

After Rogue went and got Raven a bathrobe for decency's sake, they stumbled out to the SUV. Frank called Nick and someone would meet them there to extract the people and the vehicle. After they had all been loaded on the large aerial transport, Nick and Rogue saw to securing Mystique in a stretcher that would not allow her to move.

Rogue went off to talk with Nick after Raven was locked up good and tight. That left Frank alone with Mystique.

There was fear in her eyes. Frank could kill her now, there was no doubt of it. And he never made the same mistake—which meant he'd be even more thorough in the killing of her. "What are you going to do to me?"

"Nothing. You're pregnant. I don't harm or kill pregnant women." Although after she was pregnant, that would be a different matter. The Punisher took a seat near her. _He seems less than happy_ , she thought, _although being with child saved my life, he could still make me regret being pregnant._

"Then what do you want, asshole?" Maybe that wasn't the politest thing to say, but if he said he would not harm her, he meant it. Raven regarded the man with cynicism.

"I want several things, psycho. First, I want a paternity test. If the child turns out to be mine, you are going to sign full custody over to me—BEFORE the baby is born. After that, you are going to spend the rest of your life behind bars. If you are ever released, I'm going to be notified. I will hunt you down and kill you. So it's to your benefit to stay locked up."

Frank continued the conversation, whether she wanted to hear it or not. "I know why you wanted to get pregnant. You have a pathological, fucked up desire to mess up anything positive in Rogue's life. But, I'm going to tell you that we're engaged." He got up and walked across the storage bay. "You didn't fuck up anything but your own life."

Rogue popped her head back in and smiled tentatively at him. She loved him, but still furious at the same time. She decided they would have a talk when it was most convenient. "We're almost at the helicarrier. Ah talked to Nick and he'll let us stay there overnight before he'll dispatch us elsewhere. They also have a superhuman brig on board that will keep her from doing what she does best."

"Good." He remained silent on the rest of the flight and so did Mystique.


	12. Action Is A Game

Everything is blue

His pills, his hands, his jeans

And now I'm covered in the colors pulled apart at the seams

And its blue

And its blue

Everything is grey

His hair, his smoke, his dreams

And now he's so devoid of color

He doesn't know what it means

And he's blue

And he's blue

-Halsey, Colors

THREE MONTHS AGO

While Rogue and Frank were occupied with taking some needed rest, David, both the NSA and CIA directors as well as the Joint Chiefs of Staff were in a secret meeting with the new President. They went over security risks and made contingency plans. They were working long into the night and had dinner brought to them. They felt the strain of feeling like they failed the country, and all were determined to make things as right as possible.

David forwarded to his superiors the data his agents had collected for him. He pointed to several key points on his PowerPoint presentation. "They're using psionically gifted people. The FBI has a minorly gifted telepath, and she's caught wind of an extremely powerful telepath. We need to adjust our strategy. I'll leave that up to the generals."

"Easy, we press more telepaths into service. Either by asking politely or by coercion. These kinds of sucker punch attacks can no longer be tolerated." That came from the Commandant of the Marine Corps, one General Robert E. Hicks, a veteran of the Vietnam war. His nickname was War Horse, a Marine term that indicated extensive combat experience. Officially, Robert was loved and respected by the Marines for his grit and intelligence. Off the record, the man was rather salty but David could deal with that.

David speculated whether General Hicks knew his father, they were of an age and came from the same battalion. He thought it best not to stir up that hornet's nest and let it rest.

"That's a great idea." President Claire Conrad said, a weary smile on her face. An older woman, she retained a hint of the beauty she possessed in her youth. An able politician, she was picked for Vice President due to her well documented resolve for standing up to oppressive government tactics.

"How is that great? We can't make people do something against their will. Many telepaths consider it unethical to read minds without permission. And I'm not sure we'd want the kind of telepaths in our employ that have no moral qualms delving into our citizens' minds." David frowned and drank his black coffee. He needed to stay awake because he was running on just a few hours' sleep. "There's another reason why I object. If we have unprincipled people in our midst, there's a risk government secrets will be compromised. I'm not willing to take that chance, Madam President."

There were murmurs of agreement from some of the Joint Chiefs, but the Commandant held firm. "Obviously, precautions will need to be taken, maybe assign them handlers that do not have access to sensitive information. We need people specialized in dealing with telepaths."

"You both make sense, but we are entrusted by the people to protect them. That means doing unconventional things on occasion." Conrad assured David. "I have to side with the Commandant on this sensitive issue. General Hicks, proceed with obtaining telepaths. However you can."

General Brian Millar—who Frank would label as a ground pounder—gave his input. "People are organizing militias, President Conrad. HYDRA and the standing order to disarm are making Americans nervous. It's creating civil unrest."

"Take the Army and the National Guard and squash them. I gave the order for the citizens to disarm. If they want to play at being an army, we'll show them how it's done." President Conrad ordered. "I want that order sent out within five minutes, General, so get your ass in gear."

Commandant Hicks spoke up. This he could not tolerate. An armed populace was a benefit to the military, especially when dealing with an invasion. He certainly did not plan to enforce the President's plan to ban weapons. "We can't use our military on ordinary people. It's unconstitutional to be deployed against our own civilians." Some troops inevitably would revolt—they certainly did not want to potentially shoot relatives or friends—and Hicks needed to maintain discipline amongst his men.

"Commandant Hicks, with all due respect, you need to shut up. I'm the Commander in Chief and you're all to do my bidding. There are very damn few senators or representatives and that means I am in charge." Those members of the legislative branch that still were in the land of the living, were safely 'ensconced' in protective custody. Only until martial law could be lifted, of course.

Before Hicks opened his mouth, Conrad told him sharply, "Joint Chiefs of Staff, you've received your marching orders. You're dismissed. All of you may leave except David. I need to talk to him privately."

The highly distinguished and decorated military men filed out of the room. Although they were given orders, a few of them were not sure they'd obey. Hicks thought her demeanor was that of a tyrant and he questioned as to who killed President Steve Rogers. His intuition told him that Conrad was not quite what she seemed to be. But out of sheer curiosity, he wanted to listen to what Conrad had to say to David, so after ducking the Secret Service, he found himself in a housekeeping closet near the War room, and he could listen to the conversation. Hicks's CIA contact informed him about the small utility space. The CIA used it quite frequently.

"David, you have been a wonderful advocate for the American people. You've helped make the FBI more accountable for your special agents' actions." She left her chair to sit by him. Two Secret Service members kept guard in the room, their faces were implacable. "You are talented, intelligent, charming and most women think you're handsome." She let her eyes wander down his wide frame to linger on his thighs.

David had no idea where the President was going with this conversation. But he did not care for the slightly intimidating way she delivered her compliments. The words she used to mistreat Hicks were disrespectful to say the least. He sensed her eyes on him and he fidgeted, made uncomfortable by her gaze. It wasn't licentious but coldly appraising.

David said, as he crossed his legs. "Get to the point and stop fucking around."

"I'm going to bring you to heel, David. You will cooperate with me and I will not brook disobedience. I will do the same to Hicks." Conrad snapped at him, her pretense at being a reasonable person gone.

"I doubt you can do that, _Madam_ President." David had an unease gnawing at every instinct, a growing fear of something he could not quite define. He smelled the scent of HYDRA and that made his blood run glacier cold.

"Oh, I believe I can." Claire Conrad sneered. Any residual superficial compassion she may have displayed disappeared under a mask of ruthlessness. "See, those men, "she indicated to the two Secret Service guards, "are gifts from HYDRA. Open the door and let von Strucker in with his little surprise."

One of the men did as he was ordered, and let Baron von Strucker in with his 'surprise'. Trent. _These animals have my son!_ Uncertainty in David shifted into rage.

"Director Castiglioni, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance." Von Strucker had grabbed the boy from the residential mental health facility, read the psychiatric reports and was impressed that an eight-year-old kid had the fortitude to stab his own father. Originally, it was von Strucker's plan to use Trent as a hostage for his father's compliance. But after reading about the potential Trent Castiglioni had as a killer, that could not be wasted.

While waiting for Conrad's signal to enter, he had given Trent a knife and bade him to hide it. Trent did so with an eagerness that brought a smile to von Strucker's face. Trent tucked it in his pocket.

Von Strucker gently said to the boy, "If you want to live a free life and do what comes so naturally to you, use the knife on your father. Think of this as a test. If you pass, I will take you with me and train you to be my Winter Soldier." When the door was opened, and both Trent and von Strucker entered the room.

"Trent! Did they hurt you? Are you OK?" David was relieved to see Trent, even if he were accompanied by the HYDRA leader. "Come here, let me check you out." David knelt and gestured for Trent to come over.

Trent glanced up at von Strucker—David hated that—and the older man gave his assent. _My son should be looking at me, not that bastard. Perhaps Trent is afraid that von Strucker will harm him._ David concluded that would be a reasonable fear for a child to have.

"Go to your father. I am sure he's been worried sick about you." Von Strucker betrayed no intimation of his little talk with Trent.

With slight hesitation, the youngster made the short trek to his father. David just wrapped Trent in a big hug and told Trent that he loved him. "I am so glad to see you." David kissed his son's cheek. _I'll find another way to care for Trent, I won't put him in that-_ his thought was cut off as Trent stuck the knife in his father's side, the blade grated against a rib and David pushed his son away. David was lucky the knife didn't penetrate any further as it could have punctured a lung. As it was, he had a long bloody gash in his side. Crimson fluid soaked through his white shirt and he thought of the bible verse: _This is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many for the forgiveness of sins._

"You locked me up, Dad." Trent said coldly. "You were supposed to love me. I hate you and never want to be near you again." Proudly, he went over to stand with Baron von Strucker.

Baron von Strucker said, almost kindly to David, "It's better this way. He was born to be what he is, with proper guidance he will not be a mere killer. He will have skill and discipline." The HYDRA leader motioned to the two men and they seized David while von Strucker and Trent exited the room.

"Trent! TRENT!" The pressure from his wife's cheating, subsequent divorce, both family massacres, and now this, this was simply too much for him to take. David broke. He shattered into a million pieces, only to be forged and tempered like a deadly sword from pure rage. He bit into the cheek of the man nearest to him, and tore away a chunk of flesh. David ignored the howl of pain. He ignored their blows, too far gone into his fugue of adrenaline and fury. He disarmed the HYDRA agent, shoving the firearm into the front of his own black slacks and shoved the other man into his silent companion, sending them into a heap.

David saw only red and felt the surge of anger fuel his strength. He bashed the two men's heads together. A noise from Conrad distracted him. He pulled out the gun tucked into waistline of his pants and took aim.

"Now, David you don't have to do this." Conrad backed away from him, hands up in a show of good faith.

Bam, bam. David did the military double tap. Two shots to the head, instant kill. Even now, he did not have it in him to be needlessly cruel to a woman. It was an easy, painless death.

He went back to the two men and pounded their skulls together until there was nothing but pulp and bits of bone. David was drenched in remnants of bone and gray matter. He yelled his frustration until a firm hand snapped him out of his berserker state.

"Castiglioni, c'mon. We need to bug out." The husky words were spoken by Hicks. "I overheard everything. You did a good deed, but we gotta go now." Robert Hicks knew enough to know that Conrad had thought she was so clever by withholding a child from his father. _Bad mistake. Even the kindest of men will turn into a tiger if his children are threatened._

David stumbled onto his feet. He shook his head, vaguely surprised at the wreck he made of the two men. He did not particularly care at this moment. His once pristine white shirt was now ruby red and his hands were bruised and swollen from bashing brains in. Then he sank to the floor, his head woozy. David peeled back the shirt to reveal a five-inch gash, which—thankfully—was shallow but bleeding freely.

Hicks helped the younger man to his feet and they left the room. "You will be protected by my entire Marine Corps."

David told him as he summoned his strength, "My real father was a Marine and his father before him. Now my daughter is one. Kevin, my eldest, is a SEAL. When I was younger, I never really gave much thought to joining the armed forces. I was more interested in figuring people out."

"Well, every family has a black sheep. You just happen to be it in your family, young man." Hicks said with some comradery. The Commandant led them to the parking structure where he kept his SUV. After Hicks helped David in, the general quickly slid into the driver's seat.

"I'm going to bleed all over your leather interior." David complained. He ached over the betrayal of his son, which hurt more than the actual injury. He needed to keep talking as a distraction. The SUV was of quality construction and of the European variety.

"Son," Hicks said as he backed up and then out of the parking structure, "I've seen my men eviscerated, had them bleed out over my hands as I tried to help a medic save them. I don't give a good fuck about blood on my leather seats. People are more important than objects. If it matters that much to you, though, I can replace the seat and send the bill to you." Hicks' attempt at humor elicited a wan chuckle from David.

David changed the conversation, "What's going to happen now with Conrad dead?" He watched as the terrain of D.C went by, the cars became a colorful blur, dashing around at a frenetic pace.

"I think the other generals and I will take over the reins. Temporarily until we can put someone diplomatic in charge." Hicks surmised. "I'll let the other Chiefs know what you did, and that you are not guilty of treason. The old goats will believe me, or I'll run roughshod over the lot of them."

Fifteen or so minutes later, David was seen to by a nurse who cleaned and stitched up the wound. The short and no nonsense woman applied the bandage and firmly told David to stay out of trouble.

"I'll try ma'am." David said, amused at the forthright behavior that seemed to be the habit of nurses.

"You'll do better than try, Mr. FBI Director." She informed him as she removed her gloves with a crisp snap. The nurse closed the door and he noticed the name tag read: RAMIREZ. "Is it true what's been going around? The new President was a HYDRA agent as well?"

David decided to disclose the truth to her. It was his prerogative as the FBI Director. "Yes. How involved she was in the organization will be determined by a thorough examination." While waiting for medical treatment, he called his second in command and ordered his agents to seize data from the Oval Office. Hicks whipped the other Joint Chiefs of Staff into backing up David's request.

The nurse bit her lower lip, her white teeth left an indent on the soft tissue. "How can we trust that they haven't been infiltrated by HYDRA as well?"

"We have no other choice now, Nurse Ramirez." David said. She handed him a fresh shirt and he put in on. _It's tight at the shoulders, but will suffice,_ David thought. His muscles strained against the fabric; he kept himself in prime condition even at age forty-eight. "I'm not at liberty to divulge everything, but I will do my best to keep people safe." He helped himself to a glass of ice water and gulped it down.

The nurse smiled and she took the glass from him when he was done. This man felt so sincere in his reassurance, he gave her comfort and she held onto hope that she and her family would be safe. "Director Fury wanted me to tell you to meet him in the waiting room when we're done. Best get to it before he …well, you probably know what will happen."

David had a decent idea of what would happen. Fury, whose bite was worse than his bark, would reason at first, then make smart remarks and glare with his one eye until he got his way. If all else failed, however, then he'd pull off his belt and beat people. Director Fury had no fear of anyone. "I'd better get going. Thank you for stitching me up."

With that, he went to go meet Nicholas J. Fury in the waiting room.

"You did a great job, David." Fury smoked his cigar. He kicked back and rested his feet on the edge of the table which held various magazines promoting good health and how to raise quality children. "Although the generals have taken command of the country, they're at least letting civilians keep their guns and allowing them to form militias."

"I hope that it's going to be temporary." David replied. Having military personnel in charge of a country was not ideal, but it'd work until they could get qualified people placed in the many, many vacant government seats.

Fury snorted. "It will. People won't stand for permanent military rule, even if half the population has been dumbed down. There's more shit going down. Russia is occupying Alaska, and multiple battalions have been sent up there to deal with them. Army, Navy, Marines, and Air Force. Yes, your children are heading that way to deal with them. China's threatening Japan. Japan's Prime Minister has asked for our military help. Britain and France, bless them, have offered to bolster our military ranks with their own. We've accepted."

"If we're not careful, this could turn into World War III." David replied to Nick Fury, ominously.

"There's that possibility," Nick agreed. "but no one wants to destroy the earth for their children. I could envision biological weapons being used, but no nukes."

"What about Frank and Rogue? Where did you ship them off to?" David inquired and permitted himself to stretch out his legs.

"They're out on medical leave. I was told that if Rogue did not stay out of action until her face healed, the next punch could be devastating—maybe even fatal. Not wanting to take that chance, I told Frank to make sure she healed up." Nick shrugged. "They'll be back soon, in a couple of months, and I'll see where I need to deploy them. Don't worry about them; your job is to make your people gather as much intel in America as possible. The CIA is doing the same outside the country. Understand?"

"Yeah, I do. I'll get on it. As soon as we leave here." David said. He thought of the people he killed and felt nothing. _It's getting easier for me to kill. I'm starting to feel nothing when I do it. No pleasure yet no regret about it._ The thought did not even alarm him, the act of killing was beginning to feel routine. _Or maybe my give a damn is broken. Perhaps I'll feel bad about having to kill those people later._

But somehow, David thought that he would never regret putting those people down.

Fury grunted. "We better get goin'. Both of us have a shit ton of work. We ain't getting any younger."


	13. Temple of Thought

BACK IN THE PRESENT

Mystique smirked at Frank Castle from across the desk. They were in a tiny room—bland and devoid of any personality—as they awaited the results of the pregnancy and paternity tests. The psychopathic mutant was heavily restrained with the kind of technology that inhibited her power—the same kind that Rogue used—but Raven knew she had Frank by the nuts. She just needed to play her hand carefully enough. Maybe even squeeze him by the balls if he made her.

Rogue sat near him, her left hand rested on the table. Raven noticed the steel band around her wedding finger. "Are congratulations in order? Maybe you're finally ready to bury another wife, Frank."

Frank's eyes narrowed to blue daggers. "Be quiet."

"I don't have to be quiet. I know that you won't hurt me. I'm not lying when I said that I'm pregnant and that the child's yours." Raven risked a look at Rogue, who other than being white knuckled, gave no other sign of anger or distress. She was slightly disappointed by the lack of emotion in Rogue's eyes.

Nick came in and handed Frank a sealed envelope. He had not opened and read it out of respect for Frank. "I'll be in the room next door if you need me." Nick's glance at Rogue told her to not let Frank kill Mystique. Nick knew Frank would not injure a pregnant woman but if Mystique lied, all bets were off. Frank's rage would know no bounds.

Frank opened the envelope and read the test results: _Pregnancy confirmed. Gender of fetus is male. Adult male DNA supplied is consistent with the DNA of fetus._ _We conclude the anonymous male who submitted the DNA is the father._ He rendered to the lab techs a cheek swab after getting on board the helicarrier. All three of them had waited in this room ever since and the two hours felt more like two days.

Rogue read it over his shoulder and her lips clamped shut. She stayed quiet and still, not trusting herself.

"Well, was I telling the truth?" Mystique asked, that irritating expression on her face. Rogue wanted to smack that look off her, but restrained herself.

"For once, you were telling the truth. I'll have the papers drawn up for custody." Frank coldly stated. "I expect you to sign them. You won't be allowed to raise the child where you're going." Raven Darkholme's new home was a state of the art prison specifically designed for extraordinary people where they would be isolated and every moment of the day monitored. Mystique would have damn few privileges.

Raven laughed. "I don't care what you do with the brat. Just know that I have agents and if they find the child, they might take it for their own. There won't be many people that inconvenience will be safe with." It annoyed Frank that she referred to a baby as an inconvenience. She leaned closer to give him the double whammy. "I know about your baby girl Sarah, Frank. How? Barracuda sold the information a few years ago, to an acquaintance of mine who then spent a few years in hiding—after he heard what you did to Barracuda—until he ran out of money."

"If anyone harms her…" Frank growled.

"No one will harm a hair on that lovely auburn head if you leave me alone. My lawyers will expect a weekly call and relay the news about my well-being. Everything will be fine if I'm alive and unhurt. If you want proof, go to the law firm of Queen, Dupont and Martin. Tell them that Raven sent you. They'll give you the photos of your beautiful daughter."

Rogue got to her feet, smiled at Frank, and excused herself. "Ah need to use the ladies' room. Then Ah'll be getting something to nosh on. Meet ya back at our room, Frank." Inwardly, she could not be with Mystique for another second. She knew about Sarah, of course, but to hear Mystique use his daughter as a threat-nauseated her. She blew her fiancé a kiss before exiting the interrogation room, which was barely more than a closet.

Rogue walked down the hall, haunted by her thoughts. Her boots made a hollow sound to echo her feelings. _She knows his weakness. Children. More explicitly,_ _ **his**_ _children. Ah warned him! Ah told him to leave her the fuck alone! What's he going to do with his son and daughter? They'll be in danger wherever he puts them._ Despite what she said to Frank, she went immediately to their room and just sat on the bed. She put her face in her hands and cried for Frank, cried for Sarah and his unborn son, and then cried for herself.

Frank finished with the interrogation and wandered off to find Rogue. Her face was a red, blotchy mess and her eyes were bloodshot. He knew why she wept and there was no way he could fault her. "If you don't want to marry me, I'll understand." Frank did not sit next to her but remained standing, almost as if he would be gone forever from her life if she said that was what she wanted. He almost expected it. He hurt her. He did not mean to, but he knew that he did. 

"No. Ah want you. Any injured feelings on my end, we'll work through." She had entertained the thought and the mere idea of losing him brought on fresh anguish. Giving him up was not an option. He was worth any cost to her. "Ah done told you that when Ah love someone, it's forever. But we do have a lot to talk about and we need to make plans."

Frank put his arm around Rogue after he took his place beside her. "Have any ideas?" His voice was gruff and guarded.

"You need to go check on Sarah. This is just my opinion, but she shouldn't be with her aunt anymore. It's too dangerous for everyone concerned. And if Mystique knows, maybe other people who aren't as nice know as well." Rogue sighed. She loved children and hated seeing them used and manipulated like they were pawns. "Why did you let Sarah stay with her aunt?"

Frank shrugged, "Barb loved Sarah and was the only mother my daughter had. Kathryn didn't want to fuck her up, so that's why she gave Sarah to her sister." But he agreed with Rogue that he needed to visit Sarah, even admitted that it was no longer safe for his little girl to remain with her adopted parents. It pained him to acknowledge that perhaps he should have found a completely anonymous home for Sarah. Frank had no clue as to what to do with either Sarah or the other child, but the strong urge to protect them welled up deep inside. His instincts as a father began to emerge, as if coming out of a decades long coma. It made him dangerous.

"Marry me on the helicarrier. There's a chaplain here." Rogue said. She had wanted a family oriented wedding, but there was no time for that now. Maybe they'd have a ceremony later.

He thought he understood partly why she wanted to just do it now. Rogue was never one for wasting time or missing opportunities. She was being practical. This could be the last chance they had to get married for a long time. He sensed, though, there was another reason.

She spoke up before he could ask. "Ah know it seems like Ah'm rushing the marriage, but Ah am not. There is another reason why Ah want to marry you today—other than the fact Ah love you like crazy. If we're married, you can put me on the custody papers—and Ah'll be able to take care of the unborn child once it's here. Hell, if you say it's ok, Ah'll adopt the child. But only if that's what you want." She took a calming breath before continuing, "You're needed in the world, Frank, to clean it up and pound fear into the assholes of psychopaths everywhere. Me? Not so much. Guarding your vulnerable side would be a privilege and it's something Ah'm willing to take on." What to do with Sarah would be left up in the air until Frank talked with Sarah's aunt.

"You would give up your career to be a mother to _her_ child?" Frank was astonished. He knew the terrible withdrawal symptoms of being denied combat. This was not an offer Rogue was undertaking lightly. Deep inside, Frank knew Rogue was right about his unborn son. The child would not be safe with just anyone. He thought about asking David to adopt the kid, but David had enough shit to worry about. Frank had just heard about what David did to the President and Secret Service agents, while Frank thought his son was justified, it also bothered him. For someone who claimed to not like killing, David certainly seemed to be doing it more and more. _Might be time to have another talk with Junior._ _Need to talk to him about Trent's abduction—I don't like that HYDRA has my grandson, as morally dubious as the boy may be._

Rogue said, "Well, Ah won't have to completely sacrifice my career. Nick will probably put me on desk duty. S.W.O.R.D and S.H.I.E.L.D agents do have children and so they've got a very secure daycare center. Ah'm wandering off the topic, however."

She went on to further explain her opinions. "The baby's yours as well—that's what Ah'm focusing on. Anyway, Ah believe children shouldn't pay for the sins of their fathers or mothers. Ah can break the cycle by raising this child right. Ah can be a better parent than mah momma or Mystique could evah dream of bein'. Ah may not end up being the perfect momma, but Ah'll do a damn better job than either of those women." Her accent grew syrupy and thick with emotion. She had paid and paid for the mistakes her mother made. "Ah can make the buck stop with this child. Ah'm tired of seein' kids grow up unloved and unappreciated. And Frank, Ah'm tired of seein' them weaponized."

Frank considered for a long, still moment. "I think we need to get this in motion. We've got a lot to do, and not much time to do it. Are you sure you don't want a fancy church wedding?"

"We can do that later after we finish kicking HYDRA's ass." Rogue thought life would settle down, but not for some time. "Ah'll go wrangle up the chaplain and you find Nick. Get him to start the paperwork."

Frank found Nick in what barely could be labeled as an office. He was talking with an old man, by the looks of his uniform and military trapping, he was a general. Both men turned toward Frank. Nick smiled and the other man squinted, as if he recognized him.

"Francis Castiglioni? Is that you? You look damn good for your age." Hicks asked, incredulously. They had served in the same battalion, and Hicks knew that face well. Frank served with such distinction, he was well known in the Corps. As Francis Castiglioni, he was an exemplary Captain, who took his responsibilities to heart. As the Punisher, he was relegated to mythic status. Every Marine strove to be like him, though they tended to forget that Frank was technically a deserter. Hicks had sympathy for Frank, and always wondered why JAG did not involve themselves in the Castle case. He followed the story and concluded Frank had been let down by the entire justice system. Frank deserved better.

"I have an excellent plastic surgeon." Frank said, with a hint of dryness. He remembered Hicks, a green and wide eyed Private who learned to survive—and thrive—in 'Nam. Decent enough man and an even better Marine. It didn't surprise Frank that he became a general. "I'll come back later."

"Frank is kidding. I gave him a new version of the Infinity formula." Then Nick said, "Stay here and listen. Hicks, would you like to brief him on what's happening, our casualties and other information that you think he should know?"

"We lost twenty-five thousand Marines, thirty Captains, ten Majors, and the other losses are mostly PFC's with a few Lance Corporals thrown in. We're managing to hold onto Alaska, but the Russians are beginning to dig into our defenses. China's starting to eyeball Japan like it's a bowl of stir fry, so we've been sending more Marines and SEALs to the base in Okinawa." Hicks said. He eyed Frank. "So what do you do for Nick?"

"Freelance work." Frank grabbed a chair and sat near them.

"Don't suppose I could talk you coming back to the Corps?" Hicks knew Frank went AWOL, but also knew the reasons behind it.

"Doubt it." Frank helped himself to a cup of coffee. He tossed the idea of going back to the Marines around very briefly. The tentative offer was tempting, but he preferred the freedom to do things his way. Then the image of Rogue popped into his mind. _This isn't just about me, anymore. I've got to think about her._ "This hasn't been enhanced?" Nick tended to toss a shot of whatever hard liquor was on hand into his coffee. Frank wanted none of that nonsense.

"Nyah. I just put bourbon in my own mug now. It's safe, Frank." Nick grinned.

The three of them studied a map. Hicks laid out the locations of the Marines. Frank, ever the tactician, gave him helpful suggestions. "Bring up troops here, here and here." He pointed at different spots. "Use the natural terrain at these positions to help support and protect your men. If you need to, get them warmer gear."

Hicks asked again, "Are you sure that you don't want to come back to the Marines?"

"I'll think about it." Frank responded as Nick raised an eyebrow.

Hicks smiled. "The Marine Corps needs you again. Morale is low and we could use your talents. I'm sorry we failed you when you needed us the most, but I want to make it right. I'll let you kick the idea around while I go get some breakfast." With that he exited the tiny room.

"Never thought I'd see the day where you would even think of joining back up with the Marines." Nick took a sip of his "Irish" coffee. "How can I help you, Frank?"

Frank briefly went over the conversation he had with Rogue. "We'd appreciate your help in getting all that paperwork started."

Nick just said, "Let me give the bride away. That's all I ask." He rang up his secretary and told her to get the required legal forms. Nick barked, "We need them, pronto. Let the chaplain and Lori Williams know we'll be on our way in about 30 minutes." He hung up and turned his attention back to Frank.

"Lori said that you'll put her on desk duty." Frank stated.

"She's right but it won't be too bad. She'll be required to keep up on her marksmanship skills. When the kid is older, we'll talk about sending her back out on missions. Of course, that depends on what you choose to do. Are you going to choose to live as a vigilante, semi-legitimate freelancer, or the life of a respectable Marine?" Nick asked and kicked back in his chair.

"I'll be a Marine, I think. With a child and wife, it'll be too dangerous to be a vigilante." In other words, Frank knew that he had to stop being selfish.

Hicks came back in. He ate his breakfast in the mess hall, quickly, then hustled back down to Nick's office. He knocked and Nick gave him permission to enter.

Frank stood up and before Hicks could ask, he said, "I'll go back to the Marine Corps on several conditions. First, I need a set of dress blues. Immediately. The second condition is that I want the same rank when I deserted, and I'll also need a complete pardon. The last request is that I'll need two weeks to settle up business."

"Consider it done." Hicks agreed. They seemed like reasonable requests to him. "Why the dress blues?"

"To get married in. Lori asked that of me, and I told her I'd see what I could do." Frank shrugged, feeling an urgency to set their plans in motion. "I want to get this done, Nick. Hicks, you're welcome to tag along."

Hicks told Frank, "I love weddings, but they always make me cry." He clapped Frank on the back.

# # #

Frank waited for her in the small Chapel, clad in the sharp formal uniform of the Marines. Navy blue with red trim, highly polished bronze buttons and belt buckle. The ceremonial saber hung at his side and contrasted with the blue pants that had the red stripe running down the length. The uniform fit well, despite not having been specifically tailored for him. He did not wear the white hat, but it lay nearby. Hicks plunked down in a pew. He would serve as a witness, along with Nick.

The chapel was small and homely. Candles, hastily lit, lent it a cozy glow. The chaplain waited with Frank, a saintly expression on his face. It was not often he had the opportunity to officiate at a wedding, and he was happy to do so.

Nick was going to give away Rogue—she had agreed with a smile—so he waited just outside the chapel. Nick's secretary learned that Rogue planned to get hitched in just her pants and shirt. She would not allow Rogue to do that, so she hunted up a plain white dress.

Lori approached the chapel door. The dress was modest and simple; the way she liked it. She wore no veil or jewelry except for her ring. White combat boots peeked out from under the hem of the dress.

Nick hesitated at the door, wearing his Army dress uniform. He looked very dapper in his garb, she thought, and not at all like the old soldier she grew to respect and love like a father. He held out his arm to her and she accepted it. "Still want to go through with this? It isn't too late to be a runaway bride."

"Ah want to marry him more than anything, Nick." She kissed his cheek and he opened the door.

Frank's appearance knocked the breath out of her. _There ain't no uniform finer than the Marine blues._ He filled the uniform out like he belonged in it. Determined blue eyes met and held hers. He smiled with genuine warmth as he saw her in a dress for the first, and probably last, time. Nick walked her up to Frank, handed her arm to him, then receded back to sit with Hicks.

The ceremony was short and sweet, as Rogue and Frank recited their vows and the chaplain declared them man and wife.

"You may now kiss your wife." The middle-aged chaplain beamed at them. The couple looked good and seemed very happy together. He appreciated doing the wedding. It was a pleasant reprieve from counseling soldiers who were grief stricken over a fallen brother or sister. He dabbed at his eyes with a handkerchief. Apparently his "allergies" were acting up.

Frank kissed her very gently, but she flung her arms around his neck and returned it with fervor. When the kiss ended, she just grinned up at him. "Now that's a real wedding kiss!"

After the papers were signed, the four of them began to talk.

"Where are you going for your honeymoon?" Hicks asked.

Rogue and Frank just glanced at each other. Rogue chimed in, "We don't have time for that right now. He's got …to take care of a personal issue." She thought that he would be heading out as soon as the transportation was made ready.

Frank decided he needed to tell Rogue about his reenlistment, before he left. "I'm rejoining the Corps, pending confirmation of my conditions. I won't—and can't—allow you to make all the sacrifices."

Rogue blinked, gob smacked by the sudden announcement. She wished Frank had consulted her first, but perhaps there had been no time. "What about your record?" She referred to both his AWOL status and criminal activity.

Hicks brought out a paper, which Frank picked up and examined thoroughly. "There's no President, so I got the authority from the other Joint Chiefs of Staff to authorize a pardon for him. Copies have been given out to the CIA, NSA, and FBI directors. I had to kick my fellow Chiefs asses a little bit, but I convinced them that we need you more than we need to prosecute you. They are requesting that you serve at least four years."

"That's fine by me." Frank muttered. "Nick? Is everything good to go? Everything is official?"

"Yup. You're legally married and the adoption and custody papers have been submitted. You're ready to leave when you want." Nick said. He listened to the conversation Mystique, Frank, and Rogue had, and so he knew why Frank needed to leave. Nick would have offered to send Rogue to assist Frank, but he required her presence. Nick had a mission for her to complete.

Frank and his new wife said their goodbyes. He promised her three or four days away in the Poconos after getting Sarah. They gave each other a quick smooch and embrace, then he jumped on the helicopter. It lifted off and the vision of Rogue, winds whipping her white dress into a frenzy, was the only thing he noticed as he left.

Rogue stared at Frank as he departed and her heart ached. They had duties to perform and people to protect. _Suck it up, buttercup. There's going to be longer absences with him reenlisting. Months long absences, even._ _Ah'm gonna be left taking care of the baby._ Her mind knew he did it for them, but her heart wished for a tad more normal life. _Ah've heard being a military wife ain't easy. Guess Ah'm gonna find out how tough it really is._

"C'mon, Mrs. Castle. We've got a job to do." Nick gruffly informed her. "There's a two-day mission I need to send you on, a recon mission."

# # #

"Waterboard him again, Agent Casteel. I know that little shitheel has information on where my son was taken!" David yelled. "And I fucking know he speaks English as well as German." That part David said in decent German.

The CIA agent put the rag over the man's face and poured water over the captured HYDRA operative until the man began to cough and sputter. The CIA agent let up on the captive.

"Let me ask you again, you bastard, WHERE DID STRUCKER TAKE MY SON?" David was furious and while the various CIA and FBI agents couldn't blame him, his anger made them uncomfortable. None of them had seen him take a rest since his son was abducted. He took cat naps in his office, not wanting to be far from the phone in case he was needed. David worked about fourteen hours a day now, devoting at least four of those hours to find Trent.

The blond-haired HYDRA operative just laughed. "Trent is where you won't be able to get to him. Latveria. Not even the US will be able to get him there."

"Take him away to a cockroach infested pisshole." David said, disgusted and furious. He leaned against the wall, every cell of his being driving him to rescue Trent.

A gentle hand on his shoulder made David turn his head slightly. It was the CIA Director. "David, you need a break. You are killing yourself by working so hard. We understand your pain, all of us do, but you're going to accomplish nothing by working yourself right into a heart attack."

David remembered what his father said: _My father died of a heart attack, I nearly had a fatal one. So you need to watch out, Junior._ "I will. I just miss my son. I close my eyes and wonder how he's doing. If he has a warm bed, if he's being fed right. I sure as shit know he's not being loved. He looks like Morena, with dark hair—with a whisper of red—and big brown eyes. Freckles across his nose, like hers. I awake up from nightmares only to realize that I'm living one." _I understand your anger now, Dad. I am feeling it too and it's changing me._

"Go home and get some sleep. Take at least a day and a half off—preferably three or four days. Your second in command can handle it. IF shit goes down, or if there is word of your boy, we will find you." The CIA Director, who went by the plain and serviceable name of Gary Smith, was worried about David. Genuinely. He did not want David hauled off to a mental hospital.

"Ok. I'll take a day or two off." David suddenly wanted to take a long nap. David assessed himself and found that he lacked the energy to make it to his car, let alone drive through D.C. "Just get me a cab. I'm not in good shape to drive."

"I'll get one of your men to drop you off." Gary said. "Oh, and take care of yourself, David."

"I just need some sleep. I'll be fine." David replied and wavered just a little. _I hope I'll be okay._


	14. Sick Catalyst

Frank kept tabs on where Barb and Sarah lived. Sedona, Arizona. A dry and arid state that had its own brand of stark beauty. The town itself was speckled with hardy desert bushes and flanked by red rock mountains. The atmosphere, he noted absently, was family friendly. He drove through the streets in a rented car, not far from his destination. Frank called ahead to make sure they were at home. With hesitation in her voice, Barb said they would be there. He heard the apprehension in her voice. Barb knew that he wanted his daughter again, before he even told her that he needed to take her away.

"Enemies of mine want to harm her. They know she's my child." Frank intoned, voice calm and neutral. He hated to break her heart.

Barb sobbed. "Keep her safe. Don't let anything happen to her." Her husband—Frank could not recall the man's name—muttered indecipherable words in the background. Frank assumed he spoke words of comfort to his distraught wife.

"I'll keep her safe." Then he hung up the phone as he entered Sedona.

On the streets, he saw parents walking with their children and felt the sharp pain of a father's fear. _I didn't protect Maria or Lisa. I failed them, but I won't fail Sarah. I can't._ Frank's black car turned a corner and he spotted the house. A modest ranch styled house that had a nice front yard for children to romp in. He pulled up and put the car in park.

He wore jeans and a black t-shirt. A trench coat hid his handguns and a knife or two. It only took a moment to reach the door. He knocked on the door and Barb opened it. She had been crying and it bothered him. He never knew quite how to react to someone's tears. It was easier to deal with an angry person. "I am sorry, Barb."

She just tried to brush her sadness off. "Her wellbeing comes before my feelings. I would do anything to assure Sarah's security, even give her back to you. You love her as much as I do. You don't show it, but I know you do. Tell her about Kathryn when she's older." The laughter of a young girl was heard in the background. Bob, Barb's husband, came up behind her, while the girl tore around the living room.

Frank's eyes watched Sarah. She did not notice him, as she was lost in play, but he thought she was the most beautiful thing in the world. Pure. Wholesome. Innocent. Burnished auburn hair and startlingly blue eyes. _She has mostly Kathryn in her, but there is some of me. Those eyes are mine. Like David's._

Two shots, cracking the quiet of the neighborhood, found lodging in Barb and Bob's heads. Brains splattered out the backs of their shattered skulls—Frank knew they were dead before they crumpled to the ground, and he rushed in. He had to push their corpses out of the doorway to close off the entrance to the house. Frank did that so Sarah did not have to see them. He locked it then turned to his attention to the startled child.

"I hate firecrackers! They scare me!" She wailed. Sarah noticed the big man hunkering down to her level. She stopped, mid cry, and stared at him. She did not run away in fear. He looked so stern, yet sad.

"Listen, Sarah, do you know a safe place to hide? There are going to be more of those firecrackers in a few moments." Frank asked her, blue eyes serious.

"Mom has a crawlspace in her closet. Where are Mom and Dad?" Sarah asked, a frown on her face.

"They're busy but they want me to guard you. Take me to the crawlspace." Frank said and the little girl led them to the spot in the back of her deceased mother's closet. He inspected it and nodded. It would do.

Sarah got nervous and started to fidget. "I'm scared. I want Mommy." She looked up at him with those beseeching eyes and he took a moment to choose what to tell the girl. Frank opted for gentle tact.

"Your parents have been hurt by bad men. I need to hide you—and you need to stay quiet—so that I can protect you. Can you do that for me?" Frank was afraid he might have forgotten how to talk to children and this was not the time to tell her that her parents were dead. When the two of them made their way out of this mess, he would find a way to give her the news.

"Ok, I'll go. I won't stay a word." Implicit trust shone in her face. She shimmied in the back and he did his best to hide the door. A quick perusal of the closet revealed a handgun and ammo. He took them and inspected the quality of the gun.

 _This is not the best gun, average at best. And I'm not happy about it just being on a shelf instead of in a gun safe._ He put the weapon in a pocket inside of his trench coat. He unsheathed his Ka-bar, preferring to go stealthy to avoid scaring Sarah. _I'll keep it as a backup weapon. I don't know how it'll shoot, so if I need a gun, I'll use my 1911's until I run out of rounds._

Loud pounding on the door told him that at least one of the attackers—his honed instincts said the likelihood of more than one assailant was high—went about creating a distraction. He snuck to the back door and slid the dead bolt into place. Frank crouched then listened carefully for noises outside, someone jostled the door knob.

Male voices spoke in German, although his German wasn't quite up to snuff, Frank understood enough to know the orders were to kill the girl and take the man in alive. Von Strucker wanted to make an example out of him. He concentrated but only could make out…" execute him in a video…" The rest of what the men were talking about was lost to him. Frank had little excuse to keep up the little German he acquired.

 _My daughter. My daughter. My daughter._ Those two words were the only inspiration he needed to beat the shit out of these crapweasels. _Time to get in gear._ He slithered into another bedroom, decorated in pink and ponies. _Lisa._ He shoved that painful thought out of his mind as he opened the window and hit the ground with a light thud.

He began to turn the corner and risked a glance. Frank saw four armed men and two women. Both of females had blue skin. _Damn it. The last thing the world needs is more Mystique! No wonder she was so smug._ He'd think about the implications of that revelation later when his life wasn't under threat. Frank reconsidered his tactical approach, shoved his knife into its sheath, and withdrew his guns. _Target the men first, then go after the women._

Frank aimed his guns and two of the men hit the ground. Bullet wounds in their heads oozed blood and he saw flecks of gray matter. The other men fell to the next burst of gunfire. The women, startled, pulled out their weapons and began firing at him. He retreated—this was by design, not cowardice—and led them away from where Sarah was secreted. The last thing Frank wanted was for a stray bullet to somehow find its way to her through a wall. He drew them to the side of the house. He didn't want them in the front yard to endanger more civilians, but he was desperate to protect Sarah.

 _All I got to do is keep them occupied long enough for the cops to get here. This is a residential area and someone is sure to call._ Almost as if summoned by his thoughts, he heard the piercing sirens.

A middle-aged dad took footage on his cellphone as the two azure tinted ladies shot at Frank. Frank returned fire, and moved his body between them and the innocent bystanders.

Frank grunted as he took a slug in the arm. Blood spurted, but he ignored what little pain he felt. _They got lucky. But better me than the guy behind taking the video._ He wondered why the hell the other man seemed to refuse to seek shelter.

The guy behind him shouted at the cops. "Don't shoot the guy in the trench coat. Go after the bitches in blue. The big guy didn't do anything except defend himself. He was visiting, I saw six people kill the couple while he was talking to them. I think he's military. Moves like a Marine." There was more to that middle-aged man than met the eye, Frank thought.

The cops went to engage the women, who backed off immediately. They scurried away like the cockroaches they were and the cops went after them in hot pursuit.

"Watch out! They're mutant shapeshifters!" Frank shouted, but if the police heard him, they gave no indication. For a moment, he was about to go after them, but a hand on his injured arm, made him turn around sharply.

It was the man who recorded the action. "I'm retired Lieutenant Colonel Sampson of the United States Army. I would have got my piece, but I thought it would be more important to record your innocence. Besides, you seemed to handle them well enough. Who are you?"

"Captain Frank Castle of the USMC." He stated. Frank watched the cops come begin to secure the house.

"Semper Fi, Marine. You ok?" Sampson asked. He eyeballed the blood seeping through the black fabric of the coat.

"I've lived through worse. I'm going to get the little girl that lives in that house. I need to make sure she's ok." With that, Frank left to go retrieve Sarah. His departure was rather abrupt, but he had to go check on her.

He told the police his daughter was in the house and the officer in charge gave him permission. After Frank entered the domicile, walking over the empty shells of her adoptive parents, he pushed the boxes aside that he used to disguise the crawlspace.

"Is that you, Mister?" Her little voice trembled.

"It's me, Sarah. You can come out. It's safe." His voice was now calm, almost fatherly.

She poked her head out of and was scooped up by Frank. He used his good arm to support her. "Now, we're going to play a game. If you close your eyes until I say it's ok to open them, I'll get you some ice cream."

Sarah's, like any other child, eyes lit up at the offer of a treat. "Yay!" Then she firmly closed them.

Frank ended up staying three days in Sedona. He had to make a statement to the police, submit more DNA to prove he was the father of Sarah, and be given permission to obtain Sarah's favorite belongings from the house, and he took the better part of one day to explain things to his daughter. When the DNA came through as a match, he was given immediate custody. For good measure, he gave them Nick Fury's number to move the situation along.

Sarah, not quite grasping the enormity of having lost her adopted parents yet, seemed glad enough to be with him. Frank asked Rogue to meet them at D.C so he could go have a one on one with David. To his relief, Sarah accepted Rogue almost instantly.

"Ah'll be glad to watch this little munchkin while you go have a chat with Frankie jr. Are you sure you don't want us tagging along? Maybe David needs to meet his baby sister." Rogue asked as Sarah galloped in the hotel room, pretending to be some sort of warrior unicorn.

Frank shook his head. "No introductions for them until he and I talk." He said that quite sternly and Sarah stopped in the midst of her play. After a moment, she went back to being a fierce magical equine. "I'm sure the news will be shocking to him." _Yeah, he's forty-three years older than she is._ _Liable to be quite the shock,_ Frank thought wryly. "I'll be back in a few hours."

# # #

Frank knocked on his son's red oak door after being buzzed in past the security gate. It was a large and expensive house in a prominent neighborhood. A muffled, "I'm coming." Was heard through the heavy door.

The man that appeared suddenly reeked of rum. He wore nothing but gray sweatpants and he needed a shave, the stubble threatened to become a rampant beard. His blue eyes were bleary and blood shot. "Dad? C'mon on in." David slurred and made a drunken gesture for his father to come inside.

Frank's heart sank. The house wasn't in horrible shape—yet—but there were some empty bottles of vodka and other assorted hard liquors scattered on the kitchen countertop. Some take away food containers decorated the accent tables. He walked inside and leaned against the wall as he debated whether to reach out to David. He normally let people do as they would if it wasn't illegal or endangering others. _This,_ he decided, _could be endangering the people David was supposed to protect._

"David, stop this shit. You need to pull your drunken head out of your ass." Frank bluntly opined.

"I'll drink if I want to, old man. I'm not the five-year-old kid I used to be." David waved off the fatherly advice as he wobbled his way onto a barstool. "Why did ya come to visit." He burped then grimaced and tasted the combination of microwaved burritos and rum.

Frank crossed his arms and pushed himself off the wall. "I'm not sure I want to tell you now. You're drunker than a damned Navy sailor on leave."

David grinned, somehow finding amusement in his father's irritation. "You came all this way to say something."

"Ok. You have a sister. And another half-sibling on the way." Frank said, while keeping David under close observation. He did not have time to finish his thought.

The good disposition David showed dissipated. "Jesus Christ, Dad. Can't you keep it in your pants? Or is that slut you're with pulling it out for you?"

That sprung Frank into action. He grabbed David and made his son eat the hardwood floor. "That woman is your step mother. Address her with respect, you asshat. I was going to mention that part." Frank kept him in a submission hold until he explained the whole story.

"That's horrible. Not you marrying Lori, but-" David said, then promptly threw up all over the floor. He created a morass of foul smelling stuff. Frank got off him immediately, found a towel then let David clean his own mess. Frank was not about to do it for him.

David dry heaved for a few tense seconds before attempting to clean up the vomit. David did, then threw the towel away. He barely managed the task, but he did pull it off. He rested against the cabinets, legs splayed out in front of him. Eyes tightly shut as if willing himself into unconsciousness.

"Why do you do this to yourself?" Frank asked. _Is he punishing himself? Does he have a death wish? Or does he want to forget?_

"I use alcohol to try and not have dreams when I sleep. When I do dream, I see our family dead. Mother, Lisa, Cameron, Emma and Morena. All drenched in blood. They cry out for me to help. And I can't. I can't help any of them. Dad, I can't even help myself." David broke down. "I couldn't save them. I tried hard to save Trent and he was taken from me too. I can't take much more of this."

Frank hauled his son to his feet and brought him to the couch so David could rest comfortably. The elder Castle barely handled his own grief, so he had no words of comfort to give. But he held David's hand in a strong grip as David gave voice to his emotional anguish.

"For Maria's sake, please stop drinking. She loathed alcohol and its effects on people—she had alcoholics in her family. An uncle, father's brother, if I'm remembering correctly." Frank had the opinion alcohol made grief like David's worse. _Maybe he'll quit for her._

"Other than alcohol, the only thing that dulled my pain was going to work. I was informed I need two weeks of rest. I'm still on my first week. What am I going to be like on my second?" David added. "I'm sorry about insulting Lori. I won't do that again." He wanted to apologize before he forgot. Or Frank vanished.

"It's up to you how you're going to fill your time. I suggest you use your brain, sonny boy." _Sonny boy. My father called me that when I was young._ "As for being an ass to my wife, don't do it again or I'll lay you out. Harder next time."

David pulled the Afghan off the top of the couch and rolled to his side. He felt sleepy and drained. "Therapy. AA. Meeting new people. Maybe that'll help."

"I'll call later to check up on you." Frank said as David began to snore.

Rogue and Sarah had just finished watching a cartoon when Frank came back. He sat on the edge of their bed and Sarah scampered over to him.

"Why so sad?" She asked. Sarah thought for a moment, then used two fingers to push up his cheeks. Then sat in his lap. She kissed him then climbed all over him like a little monkey. That almost made him smile, but remained troubled over David. She eventually settled down next to him and babbled to Rogue.

Frank considered for a moment. _I attract damaged people or cause them. Why do they talk to me?_ _It's probably_ b _ecause I listen._ Frank grew up listening to people and learned from them. He was the living embodiment of the old saying: a still water that ran deep.


	15. Epilogue

EPILOGUE

Will the darkness fall upon me  
When the air is growing thin  
Will the light begin to pull me  
To its everlasting will  
I can hear the voices haunting  
There is nothing left to fear  
And I am still calling  
I am still calling to you

-Ashes of Eden, Breaking Benjamin

SIX MONTHS LATER

The war raged on, burning through the country like wildfire. Many disenfranchised people took advantage of the chaos and looted. The economy was in ruins. Russia and China had invaded Mexico and decimated their army. Mexico belonged to China now. The large amount of petroleum and assorted natural resources was too tempting for China to resist. The United States could not help them and watched powerlessly as China dominated them. The Chinese soldiers put every single drug dealer and pusher to the bullet. Drug lords were executed publicly and made an example of.

 _We have enough problems of our own. Russia's got Alaska under siege, staying just out of attack range, but not far enough away to pull back troops._ Frank thought. _It seems like the strategy is to divide our forces._ He would be sure to speak his mind to Hicks and Fury. _They're old, but not senile. Surely they see that tactic._

They watched a national news channel which documented the destruction of the last six months. HYDRA was still on the loose, attacking large towns only to bug out and disappear.

"My company and I—among others—are being deployed down to Texas next week to put down any Reds that come across the Rio Grande. We'll be gone for six months, maybe eight months." Frank glanced over at her. "I checked on David. He's doing better, been going to AA he tells me, and mentioned he'd like to meet Sarah. I'll leave that up to your discretion."

"The rugrats and Ah might go down to D.C and have lunch with him. Couldn't hurt. Well, couldn't hurt me anyway. Ah might just smack him upside the head if he insults me." Rogue muttered. She wanted to get off that line of thought. She liked David and it stung when she learned he called her a slut, even if he were drunk of his at the time. "Have you given any thought of what to name the baby?"

"After my father, perhaps." Frank said, as he watched the minutes slowly roll by. They had been here for several hours.

"Mario Castle? No. That sounds like a video game." Rogue pretended to think about it. She had given some time to mull over good names. "How about Michael Anthony?" _After the Archangel, leader of God's armies and protector of small children. A fierce warrior who believes in righting wrongs. Michael is also the patron saint of the military and policemen._ "For your stillborn brother who wasn't given the chance to live."

Frank nodded. That was a good solid name, a name a child could live with. "Gotta tell you, Lori, I think God has a sick sense of humor. I've got you and two kids. I'm right back where I started—before **it** began." He stretched out his legs; this chair was almost too small for him.

"You're Catholic. You were in seminary so Ah'm sure you've heard this story before. But we have some time to whittle away. Satan and God were talking about this uber faithful man named Job. Job, through hard work and perseverance, had it all. Kids, a wife, everything. Wealthy in sheep was he. Old Beelzebub—must have been envious of God's favor in Job—so he told God that Job wouldn't love him anymore if he had nothing. God agreed to let Satan do his thing if Job himself remained unharmed." Rogue said, very animated.

"I've heard this story, yes." Frank was almost amused at the colorful way she was relaying the parable to him. "Not one of God's finer moments and it brings up the borderline heretical question of why God and the Devil would be having a conversation in the first place. But go on, Lori."

"No matter what that old horny toad did to Job, Job would not curse out God. Raiders killed all his children, razed his fields, stole his livestock. The old man lamented his own life and wanted to die, but that was it. Finally, everything worked out—speeches were given—and Job was given twice as much as he had before the 'bet' with Lucifer started."

"I've cursed God plenty. You know I'm not Job." Frank responded.

Rogue could only imagine how often Frank must have given God a firm talking-to. "But you have done what some might consider the work of a soldier of God. Like, say, Samson. You saved innocents and sent the truly wicked to a well-deserved barbeque. Maybe this is God's way of rewarding you." Rogue was starting to believe there was a God.

"Or maybe he wants to 'test' me further." Frank said.

Rogue thought she understood what he meant. He feared for it all to be taken away again. That was a completely normal fear to have, but she sensed a fierce protectiveness under that. Raw and primal. He would gladly destroy anyone that dared to hurt them. That energy would be put to good use in the field.

Frank considered for a moment. "In seminary, the story of Job was considered an example of Divine justice."

"Divine injustice, more like. At the end of the story, Job was given more children and property. God should realize that you can't simply replace children you lost with more children and presume no harm, no foul. You still mourn those gone." Rogue snorted with derision.

Frank considered her statement with some thoughtfulness, but kept those ideas to himself for the time being. "God's point was that Job's personal suffering meant nothing in the grand scheme of the divine plan. Or so my priest mentor said."

Rogue wanted to change the subject. "How do you like being back in the Corps?" Rogue asked. They lived on MCRD Parris Island, on Officers' row in a big four-bedroom house, the nicest house she was ever in. Living on base was safer and since Nick set up headquarters there, it meant a short commute for her.

"It's the same but different. Hicks wanted to set me up as a new hero so the old war horse did. Now everyone knows that I took the Infinity formula. Nick gave his permission for that information to be released." He crinkled his brow, wondering how much to tell her. The Marine Corps was in bad shape but was slowly improving. The atmosphere changed when he came on board. He became a symbol of optimism, ironically enough. "Morale was bad, Rogue. We're going back to the old way of doing things, which I prefer. We're getting fresh recruits every month—enlistment has been high. Enough young men and women decided they want to save our country, I guess."

"The world's in chaos." Rogue sighed. _Ah feel like twenty-two going on forty-one._ What kind of world was poor Michael coming into? "Ah wonder if that's HYDRA's plan. Not necessarily to conquer, but to stir shit up and see what happens."

Frank was going to respond to that last part, but a friendly woman strode into the waiting room. She wore scrubs, and it was safe to assume she was a nurse.

The woman just smiled and announced to the duo, "He's here. We've got him in a room just to meet you."

Rogue and Frank hurried into the room to catch their first glimpse of Michael. Rogue was anxious to get to know him and take care of him. She hoped, despite her earlier bravado, she would be a great mother. _Ah'll certainly make every attempt. Doing a great job with Sarah._ Sarah was currently visiting "Uncle" Nick, who promised not to smoke, drink or hire hookers so that he could babysit her.

The nurse told them with a frown. "The mother didn't hold or even look at him. I don't know why. He's precious." She pointed at a bundled baby sheltered in a bassinet.

"Good." Frank said with a whisper of distaste. The less Raven had to do with his son Michael, the better. He picked up the child and examined him carefully. Tiny features, a full head of jet black hair, pink skin and tightly closed eyes left their impression on the two of them. The baby yawned, unimpressed by the parental examination.

Rogue piped up. "She's not a good person. It's best for the baby that she ignored him."

"I suppose," the nurse said, as if she could not imagine any woman being that cold-hearted and unmotherly. "Have you picked out a name?"

"Michael Anthony Castle." Frank almost smiled. He handed the baby to Rogue and taught her how to hold him, since he had more experience with children.

"Ah'm scared, Frank. Now that he's here, Ah just want him to have a good life. To be free and not grow up worrying about HYDRA." Rogue softly crooned as she kissed Michael's forehead. Her hopes were for him to not be a soldier or even a police officer, but to take up a non-violent career. _A doctor. Or a lawyer._ _Ah want him to contribute to society in a productive way._ She had nothing against the military, but it was a difficult existence and she wanted him to have an easier one. Besides, the Castle family had given enough to the military.

"Let me take care of HYDRA. Your war is on the home front." Frank said. Rogue's womanly instincts were taking over, and she showed the baby a great deal of care. _I got her out, not in the way I expected, but she's out._

His war had begun again.


End file.
